Thick As Thieves
by Faux Promises
Summary: He had never thought himself a good man, but he was her man all the same. Spy/ScoutMa. Anthology ranging from pre-canon to present. (With lemon sprinkles!)
1. Dulcinea

**A/N**: I decided to package my Spy/ScoutMa one-shots into a collection. Some artistic liberties were taken.

Those acquainted with 'Don Quixote' will get the title of this first short.

**Extra Note: **The works in this collection are subject to occasional and mostly minor revisions, for the sake of improved quality, fixing errors, or continuity.

**Disclaimer**: Do not own.

**.01 ~ Dulcinea**

x x x

Cold and loneliness had always been two forces that acted in pairs. One couldn't entirely be sure which preceded the other. Suddenly the air would feel rather chill and the blanket wouldn't blot out the sensation, and then just as quickly there would be the vivid realization of someone missing.

Or maybe missing wasn't the right word. More like the strange awareness that a certain someone _was_ there. In some intangible way that existed in the air, and its memory of events gone by.

She set the embroidery she had been working on beside her on the bed, suddenly irritated by the silence. At times like these she became thankful that she had left behind her old home in Boston. As it would turn out, loneliness had a way of being magnified by thoughts of the past.

Like a woman of much younger age, she twirled a stray bang around her finger. It was an old nervous habit, one she supposed her youngest had inherited most of all; she'd admonished him many times for tugging at his clothes or not being able to sit still. No one had to know that she indulged in the same tics when something was on her mind.

It didn't please her to be alone tonight, but more so than that, it didn't please her that it had been almost a month since the last time they were together. Not just in _that _way either—she missed him dearly. It was easier to tolerate when she'd still had a full house of children but now…

Frustrated, she picked up her stitching again. A phantom touch seemed to prickle her skin with each small breeze from the open window. She pulled the blanket more tightly around her.

_The first time she'd seen him, there had been no cold to speak of. _

_It was mid-summer in Boston. She had been managing a small job at the nearby flower shop for the past few weeks; it was nothing particularly well-paid, but the income did a world of good to help with the family's bills. She supposed it wasn't bad for a girl of her age._

_She remembered she had passed an older man vending ice cream to the neighborhood children. He smiled cordially at her, tipping his hat. She returned his smile in response—it wasn't uncommon for men to pay her such attentions, and she tried to take it with at least some degree of humility._

_But while the man had his focus on her, someone had passed behind him quick as a flash. The coin pouch that held the day's earnings disappeared from his waist. It was the sort of thing that happened so quickly, she briefly thought the heat might have deceived her senses._

_With the utmost casualty she made off in the direction of the individual in question, a taller man who she recognized as a neighbor in her tenement. She knew he lived there with a relative, and that they didn't speak much English as of yet, but she followed behind him for a half a block before he decided to give her his attention. He turned to look at her, keeping his face completely indifferent._

_"Yes?"_

_His tone was expectant. She knew he was daring her to accuse him of what he'd just pulled off, so she granted that request._

_"I saw what ya did back there—" she began evenly. "And—"_

_"And what?" he cut her off, irritated. He didn't appear to be afraid of whatever threat she could possess._

_"An' I want my cut of it."_

_The man stared at her. He seemed to be assessing her, summing her up._

_She put one hand to her hip in annoyance. "Yeah, ya heard me. You wouldn'ta gotten it if the guy hadn't been gawkin' the other direction. At me. So pay up."_

_A small smirk had started to appear on his face. _

_It was the beginning of a beautiful partnership._

Not the conventional type of way one ran into love, she supposed. But by the end of the summer they were thick as thieves, always together.

A regular Bonnie and Clyde, she'd called them.

_Before long, they had found other things in common besides pulling off petty crime._

_The night had begun to get chilly when they stopped in the park, having had a rather dry spell in the way of business. He sat beside her with an obvious discomfort; it seemed like the only time he was at ease with her was when they were in the midst of a crime. They worked in perfect unison then, but when the spoils had been had, he returned to being a standoffish man in a foreign land._

_Just like their first impromptu theft, it happened without any kind of ceremonious introduction. She had been looking off to the intersection down the road, biting her lip nervously—_

_And he had pressed his lips against hers._

_It sent a tingling feeling through her body, from the point of contact and down to her chest. She hadn't yet gotten serious enough with a guy to really be prepared for this moment, but the kiss lasted far past the point when she'd forgotten she was supposed to be breathing, and then it ended just as fast._

_She wanted to deck the bastard when they had pulled apart, because he had that same smirk all over again when their eyes met._

The courtship between them was always a roller coaster from that point forward. Though their partnership as criminals gradually ended when he took it upon himself to make her his wife one day, they had found other pastimes they enjoyed together. The brood of children she brought up was a testament to that fact.

By then he'd fallen in with this or that organization, every day a new set of potential risk of life. Sometimes he would play the criminal, sometimes the government informant_—_sometimes the line right between the two.

But as long as he found his way back to her in the end, she never could truly complain.

_Life was supposed to be boring when one reached middle-age, but they had a way of keeping the playfulness of youth in their relationship. He had become much better at concealing the rather introverted man that he truly was, but the hopeless devotion still showed itself in every little pet name he invented for her._

_And like a child cutting school, he had one day decided to appear at her home in the middle of the day. She knew a good wife would have scorned this, but as a lover she couldn't help but get a thrill of excitement at the idea._

_Of course, the mask did add a certain allure that she couldn't quite deny either. At her age, with an empty nest, nothing made the day more interesting than a good scandal._

It wasn't a relationship free of strife, as with any. Many times over the years she had found his absence hard to bear, as was the case on this particular night. It was something she had accepted with a sweetheart who depended on elusiveness. Given his relationship with the law, they saw each other at sporatic intervals, and at times she had blamed him for this.

So he'd snark back with something hurtful, perhaps that he could simply find another lover. He could have anyone he wanted, surely, and being with one woman his whole life had grown rather dull.

But lying didn't work quite as well on her as it did everyone else, and she could see the irritation written all over him when she called his bluff. Raising a house full of kids had rendered that particular trick useless on her.

_It had been one week ago that he'd strolled in and set the folder down on the kitchen table. _

_There had been a distinctly devious smirk in his attitude that suggested something particularly interesting had happened. If it contained some kind of indictment or subpoena, she had immediately thought, she would be making plans for them to skip town by the day's end._

_She flipped open the file only to find something drastically different._

_Yes, they had in fact been caught in the act at last. And he seemed so incredibly pleased by this that she just had to burst out laughing._

Well, perhaps in retrospect that meant it might be a while before they could be that audacious again.

But that didn't change the fact that she felt terribly down at the present moment. She looked around at the things she had to cheer herself up; she could read, or go back to her stitching, or watch some terrible late-night movie. It was well past midnight after all, but she had a tendency toward insomnia, except when—

She frowned as she wiggled into her slippers. There was still that chocolate cake she had made earlier. Perhaps now would be a good time to let herself indulge.

It wasn't exactly what she wanted right now, but it was close enough.

* * *

**A/N**: Feedback is always welcome. :) Expect more to come.


	2. Lucrece

**Warning:** Implication of _potential _for rape, but nothing actual. This piece was inspired by Shakespeare's poem "The Rape of Lucrece."

**.02 ~ Lucrece**

x x x

Streams of red and pink bled through the blinds of the small bedroom in the pre-dawn hours, half an hour before sunrise dissolved the last stars.

With it, of course, came another Monday morning.

The sting of guilt clung to his skin as he willed himself to abandon the warmth of laying beside her. In a way it was the good kind of guilt, because it could only exist when an incomparable pleasure preceded it—but it was guilt all the same, an unfamiliar sensation to him for the most part. When the feeling bothered him, there could be no question that she was somehow involved.

At the very least, leaving her fast asleep did feel like less of a betrayal the more he did it. Out of necessity, he had told himself repeatedly, not because he hated to see the disappointment flicker across her expression. Not at all because of the way that she said goodbye with an utterly intentional tone of wistful sadness.

He took care to close the door quietly as he ran a hot shower; it wouldn't do, in his line of work, to smell of heady lavender perfume. The warmth of the steam and the early-morning silence made him want to linger, thoughts beginning to wander already toward the day's work. In a matter of minutes he would shift back into his professional persona with a seamlessness that required an incredible amount of personal discipline.

Tenderness toward another person could almost be described as taboo for someone in his position, involved with the type of business that he was. Yet, he had always taken this as proof of his mastery of the trade. Although the situation may have been avoided if they hadn't crossed paths at such a formative point in his life, when he'd been—

_Nineteen. He had been nineteen when he came to the country with little more than the clothes on his back. His time as a saboteur—though amateurish—had left him with skills he had thought would bring him success in life, but instead he had ended up little more than a street urchin picking pockets and locks to make a meager life for himself._

_Falling for some girl hadn't been a part of the path he saw his life going down, but then there she was one day with her disarming smile and alluring acceptance of his thieving ways. Growing up in the northern French countryside had left him indifferent to the notion of romance, and war had stolen the opportunity for anything but fear and desperation to survive. _

_And yet he felt like he would have to be a fool not to make her his own._

_That, he supposed, was why he kissed her that night. It was a terrible pass at romance, purely done on impulse—the chance for such a thing had never presented itself, and he figured he was probably pushing his luck to make his first kiss last more than a few seconds. Their partnership in crime was likely now over, considering he had stolen something that was off-limits._

_But she merely leaned her head against his chest, and where one partnership came to an end, another began._

One hand rested on her hip in a flippant gesture when he emerged into the hallway, a half-grin on her face. He mentally swore; hadn't he been silent enough? She didn't _usually_ catch him. He smiled sheepishly back at her, for once willing to accept defeat with some degree of grace.

"I gave up, ya know," she sighed, brushing her sleep-frizzed hair out of her eyes. "Tellin' ya to wake me up. I could make breakfast, we could have coffee. Like married people."

Another smile. "Perfect. If you've given up, then this conversation won't need to happen."

She glared at him with a sort of half-hearted irritation, pulling her robe tighter around her. The soft satin of her nightgown peeked out from underneath. "The _one_ thing that would make me happy—the _one_ thing that would make us _kind of_ like a normal couple of adults—"

A small growl of annoyance escaped her when he'd moved to encircle her waist, but her aggravation lost its steam when he began to fondly nuzzle the side of her neck. By the time he had left a trail of kisses to her collarbone, she had resigned herself to a sigh and simply let him hold her.

Still, a girl had to get even, so she whispered his name as needfully as she could manage at this early hour. She could feel him smirking again through his kisses. Somehow he seemed to absolutely revel in the control that she had over him with that one word.

"Always get your way, don't ya?" She had taken to fiddling with his tie teasingly, giggling in an almost girlish manner. It just so happened to be her ticklish spot.

But just as quickly he had withdrawn his affection, and the cross look that returned suggested she wasn't going to let go of the lecture she had planned. Once she had glanced up at him, however, she had noticed the concerned expression he wore.

Her own expression grew softer. "Something botherin' you, honey?"

By some unknown instinct he had glanced over at the window, reaching for something at his waist. Something cool and metallic was pressed into her hands. She turned it over, examining it with puzzlement.

"After last week," he began carefully—'last week' required no explanation, "I'm not thrilled about you being alone so often without having something with which you can...sufficiently defend yourself."

The woman flexed her grip around the gun. A slick snub-nosed revolver. He had taught her to shoot long ago, being that they did tend to bond over the oddest things. Still, she had never really considered the idea of actual murder. Or was it murder in such a case? Supposedly self-defense didn't count, but it was still killing, and she had been raised a good Catholic girl. At least a decent one.

"Against who, exactly?" she asked softly. "Your friend that snapped those pictures?"

He did not answer right away, and this increased her uneasiness.

"I guess this got kinda personal, didn't it?"

Still no answer.

She held the weapon closer to her chest with a quick nod. "All right, all right. I'll keep it close by."

"Please." His tone was affectionate again, smoothing back a lock of her hair. "If not for yourself, then for me?"

With that they had bid farewell for the week, and so she stood looking at the gun in her hand. A cold sensation had settled in her chest beneath the calm she had put on.

x x x

Nervousness inscribed itself on every action she took that week.

She supposed, realistically, that she had less to fear than ever before now that she was armed. But the threat of immediate danger never did occur to her before; perhaps she had been fooling herself all these years with the belief that he would not let anything befall her. Like some kind of Lois Lane, she had always thought it so.

Now she found herself double-checking the locks at night, on edge from every sound. She couldn't quite decide if it would be better to cloister herself in her home or hurl herself into the most public place possible. How _could_ she know, when she didn't even know what it is she was compelled to hide from?

Embarrassingly, the advent of Friday night brought her more relief than it ever had before. Beneath her tightly-wrapped bathrobe she wore white lace in lusty anticipation; the roasted chicken in the oven would be done within the hour. At times like this, she truly did feel like a wife despite her relationship's unconventional circumstances.

A light knocking at the door stirred her from the dishes she had been washing. With it came a small smile at the corner of her mouth. She slipped off to the entry room, loosening the sash at her waist to reveal the slightest hint of heaven.

Her arms were already around him once she had flung the door open. The week's terror seemed to culminate and dissolve in the few moments she took to press herself into his chest. Oh, such needless worry, hadn't it been?

"Ya just had to scare me to death, didn't ya?" she scolded softly, allowing him to back her amorously into the wall. The anger she had intended didn't quite make it through to the verbalization. "I'm fine, see?"

"So you are." His cheek brushed warmly against her neck in an affectionate gesture. She sighed at the safe familiarity of it.

"Just take this back now, _please_." It came out as a bit of a gasp as his hands urgently wandered down to her hips. "Couldn't sleep all week just thinkin' about it."

She reached beneath her robe to the garter that held her sheer stockings, producing the revolver that had so aggravated her waking hours. It had gone from a drawer in the kitchen, to the bedside, to being on her person at all times.

There came a dark chuckle from her lover once she had slipped the weapon into his hands. Her nerves flew from their dormancy, instinct returning them to an on-edge state.

"Wouldn't have expected the fool to arm you," he smirked, all arrogance and victory. He teased the tip of the gun across her cheek. "Credit where credit is due, I suppose. If you'd managed to hold on to it."

An unchecked squeak of fear escaped her as a shimmer enveloped the man before her, transforming his colors from red to royal blue. It had been an effective ambush. A Trojan horse.

And here she was Helen, sweet and utterly naive in the face of cunning evil.

"Don't look so disappointed." His touch slipped down to the smooth curve of her outer thigh with vulgar lecherousness, causing the dark-haired woman to moan with disgust that she wasn't quite willing to conceal. "Certainly you could be as satisfied with me as you are with him? Fair, I think, given the number of women he must have."

Everything in her was commanding her to flee, to disappear. He still held the weapon with a chilling casualness, as a warning; a threat. Oh, she had been caught in the midst of a vicious rivalry now, and this would be the coup de grace. Everyone knew that one simply could not decimate an enemy in a more personal way than conquering his mate. Or perhaps jealousy had played a role, after the voyeuristic act of espionage. The hatred was apparent either way.

So she could not help wondering, then, if he meant to kill her afterward.

Her eyes were searching the room for a distraction when she thought she caught sight of another familiar glimmer near the doorway. Quickly she averted her gaze. Maybe, maybe...

And in a flash there was a rap across the back of her assailant's head. His eyes went concussive, falling in a heavy faint to the floor. The air gave way to a familiar sight, his blue eyes absolutely livid with disgust at his enemy.

Her hero had come after all, and there she was with the beginnings of tears in her eyes, unable to look at him.

x x x

The night had grown late when she had finally collapsed into bed with exhaustion. Her face was currently buried in his chest, a fresh wave of sobs coming on here and there.

Though the unwanted visitor had been delivered back to their mutual employer, who had been given the simple explanation that he'd had a bad fall and was quite lucky to be alive, her situation could not be remedied so easily.

He lay with her in reposed silence. A comforting stroke of her hair, along her spine. Sex happened to be the furthest thing from his mind after what she had been through. It felt cruel to touch her with anything but innocence until she decided so.

Her brown eyes turned up to his in the dark, streaks of mascara staining the beautiful face. She had refused to let him fuss over her, the shame and frustration clear in her tearful protests.

"Why're you still here?" she muttered suddenly, her distressed gaze making him want to flinch. "Ain't he right? Ya got plenty of other women, and I got nothin' for ya right now."

Indignance flared up in his stomach—of course she was talking out of hurt and anger. But it happened to be one allegation of betrayal that he was capable of taking to heart; they had been together for such a long time, after all. If anything about him could be said to be true, it was that he had never done anything unfaithful in the course of their relationship.

Well, _physically_. He'd lost count of the secretaries and female subordinates he'd talked his way past. He supposed his tactless rival had no real idea of how to win over a woman aside from bedding her.

It made him, he liked to think, a cold-blooded murderer with a code of honor. It was one thing that made him different from the animal that had attacked her.

"Kat."

She glanced up at him when he softly spoke her nickname—no one else was permitted to call her by it. Sweet, motherly Kathryn to the world, with that one little exception.

"I hope you don't think I blame you for what happened," he finished more softly still. "You know as well as I do that it was my fault you were targeted in the first place."

Another stabbing twinge in his heart when she sniffled miserably. "No. I was stupid—shouldn't have let him disarm me. If you hadn't tailed him—"

"—then he would be _dead_ right now."

A small smile lit up her expression. He hoped she knew he wasn't exaggerating.

"No. It's my fault too. I always knew somethin' like this could happen." She wiped a tear against his shirt. Of course she was the only one who could wreck his clothes without getting any protest. "With a guy like you an' all."

He buried his face in her hair, her scent ever-intoxicating. Guys like him indeed. The kind who got girls like her killed.

"Which only begs the question _why_ you'd remain with me," he pointed out in all truthfulness. "When I'm _that kind of guy_."

The breath he'd been holding in slowly melted as she pressed her lips against his, not with lust, but with pure intensity of emotion. "'Cause you're also the kind of guy who always comes back to me. And takes care of me. And our sons—sometimes. And—"

"I _don't_ cheat on you," he added flatly.

"...that too," she finally admitted. "See? The good kind of guy."

Her fingers threaded their way through his. He felt young every single time she did something like that.

"I'm still going to kill him."

She smiled. The good kind of guy.

"I do mean it too." He was lighting up a cigarette; it tended to be something he accompanied with thoughts of vengeance. "Someday this job will be over and there will be no more contractual obligations—and he will let his guard down. I could wait until he's won over some woman for the night and then—"

She had placed a hand against his cheek, over his masked face. He was her phantom, silent and watchful. Now he had taken to gently massaging her hip through the fabric of her nightgown, a chaste gesture that he had retained from their first nights together.

"Ya never see the one with your name on it."

At last her voice had grown weary. He kissed her forehead, earning another small smile from her. If watching over her all night was what it took to make her feel safe again, he would do it gladly.

One last kiss to her hand. Her tears had dried up. He knew what he was doing was weakness, the very fact that he loved her like this was terrible, foolish weakness.

But if this was weakness, then he would content himself with it always.

* * *

**A/N**: Will be adding soon, and thank you to any readers.


	3. Déjà Vu

**.03 ~ Déjà Vu**

x x x

His fingers pulled at a loose thread on his blanket as he stared sleepily toward the bedroom wall, a barely-visible mass in front of him in the darkness. The familiar sound of his brothers' soft snoring filled the room that the three youngest of the litter shared. A few feet away, the door was cracked open a tiny sliver, and the hushed sound of voices traveled in from the adjacent living room. Such a small home couldn't keep secrets, as all of its inhabitants had found out over time.

The boy wasn't sure if a sound had woke him up, or if it was the scratching in his throat that urged him to get a glass of water from the kitchen. He had always been a sound sleeper, after all, but the sound of the front door closing shook the tired old house when closed with any degree of force.

As a sort of afterthought, he knew he didn't want to interrupt his mother if she had a visitor. But he was thirsty and his mind was addled from sleep, so before much more consideration the seven-year-old crept over to the door and stepped into the short hallway that led to the dining room. He paused for a moment to listen to what was going on.

Yes, that was his mother's voice…and yet, it didn't really _sound_ like his ma. Her voice was usually abrasive and outgoing, not the calm and almost _sad_ tone he heard coming from the other room. And the other voice—he frowned. A man, but one he certainly had never been introduced to.

"I get it—it's just. Short notice, you know? The boys don't need—"

The dark-haired woman paused when she saw her youngest standing in hallway. For a moment her face paled just the slightest, her gaze darting over to the man seated across from her at the table.

But her son merely stared at the couple, blue eyes tired and almost uninterested in the affairs of the adults. "Hey ma," he smiled sheepishly.

She had already reassembled the composure that her surprise had caused to slip. "Honey," she answered in the firm yet loving tone only a mother seemed capable of. "You oughta be in bed. It's very late and you got school tomorrow, remember? And baseball practice after that?"

Her concerned expression as she glanced over at her companion spoke in a language only the two of them comprehended. The man, on the other hand, seemed intrigued by the boy's presence. He wore a deep brown fedora hat that mostly obscured his features, but blue eyes stood out sharply from the shadows.

"Jus' wanted some water," he explained quietly to his mother, stepping forward into the light of the dining room. The stranger made him uneasy, even despite his mother's obviously comfortable attitude. "Sorry."

The woman sighed as she began to get to her feet. "All right sweetie, I'll getcha—"

She was cut off by her visitor, who had reached out to place his hand over hers where it rested on the table. "Allow me, Kathryn. It is no trouble."

If he hadn't appeared unusual enough to begin with, his strange accent certainly increased that quite a bit. The boy had never heard someone speak like this, and it made him that much more wary. He glanced imploringly at his mother for an explanation, but her eyes were conveniently directed down at the table.

The stranger reappeared with a glass of water in hand, and the boy shied away as leaned down to offer it to. A small smirk played across the man's face as he noted the child's reluctance. In an oddly familiar gesture, he ruffled his fingers through the boy's hair, causing their gazes to meet for a brief moment. He began to murmur something to himself in a foreign tongue, but seemed to quickly catch himself.

"Your mother is right. Back to bed with you, hm?" A bit of dark humor flickered through his eyes, but the boy was too young to fully appreciate the subtlety of it. He accepted the glass with a tentative look about him before turning to do as he was told.

When she heard the sound of the bedroom door close with a click, his mother finally spoke again. Her voice was the strangest mixture of joy and sorrow.

"Didn't I tell ya he looks just like you?"

x x x

That late-night incident flashed briefly through Scout's mind as he stood looking down the tunnel, his RED opponent at the opposite end holding his fire for a reason he couldn't entirely understand. An electricity seemed to resonate through the air, his mind straining to dig up the place that he remembered his enemy's eyes from. It lingered just beyond his grasp, somewhere in his brain, but too distant to be a lucid memory.

As it were, the other man had seen far more battles than his newly-hired BLU enemy. His surprise came to an end first, and a loud shot rang out in the mining tunnel. The bullet penetrated the younger man's brain and brought his contemplation to an abrupt end.

Some things, he thought, were best left forgotten.

* * *

**A/N**: I wasn't sure if I wanted to include this one in this collection being that it isn't really shipping so much. I guess it's more like a consequence of the relationship. The difficulty presented by ScoutMa not really wanting Spy around their family considering it will just makes things more complicated.

Best wishes,

-FP


	4. Madly

**Warning**: Sexual content of a very, very mildly adult nature.

**.04 ~ Madly  
**

x x x

Only the steady _tick tick-_ing of the clock on the mantle could be heard when he slipped into the small house. It read a quarter past midnight, his usual time of arrival. Though clandestinity had become far less necessary than ever before in his life, old habits from days with the mob or some foreign enemy on his tail had remained in place.

Protecting something important did, after all, have a way of dispelling carelessness.

Routine took over the next few minutes, leading him to her bedroom in silence. He expected that she would be fast asleep, also per usual, and so she was. A pillow hugged to her chest, the thin strap of her nightgown slid halfway down her arm. It was an inviting sight, but he was a man of infinite patience. He watched her in the mirror of her vanity as he carefully dressed down. It was always a shame when he couldn't instead allow her to do so. She had a teasing way of undoing one button at a time, slowly, that made him absolutely wild.

Truthfully, when this time of the week came that he could visit her in safety, he grew excitable and impatient again. The delayed gratification had not been something he expected to enjoy as much as he did, but it had a way of making the experience unmatched.

It was comparable to aging wine, he supposed.

_This happened to be something he discovered earlier in life, when he had first proposed that they be wed. It was a bit of a strange idea, because false names and secrecy were sure to be involved, but he hadn't wanted to picture letting her escape him for another man. Perhaps a better man than he was._

_Her acceptance came with terms, as it had turned out. She would tolerate his absences, the dangers of his chosen path, raising children alone. But if she was to be a faithful wife, then he would in turn have to promise her the same. She was no trifle, she had said with a smile, no trophy to sit on a shelf._

_The fact had seemed implicit in the entire concept of marrying in the first place, but he hadn't exactly thought it out either. If he were to someday become a man of the world, then he could surely have dozens of exotic women, and the prospect was exciting to a young and inexperienced man of his age. It hadn't been something he had thought much about since meeting her, and loyalty happened to come fairly naturally when one was a few minutes walk apart._

_So he had considered it carefully._

By now he had slipped in beside her, gently removing the cushion she had clasped to her chest. She stirred slightly, eyes fluttering open. He couldn't help but find her irresistible when that waking recognition came on to her face, accompanied with a smug grin.

_After bearing witness to the sight of her in white lace, he had known he would choose her. Passing up a lifetime of this for a few moments of anyone else seemed foolish to a mind as sharp as his, and that didn't even count the fact that she was his confidante as well as his lover.  
_

_It had been a trial experience the first few years of marriage; he was in and out of the country, a thief or a hitman, sticking to the shadows. At times there was the loneliness of being away, but being patient rather than impulsive had always benefited him in the past. There was never a shortage of women in the more seedier places he passed through, of course, and it became an exercise of willpower not to fall prey to a pretty face._

_But he had resolved not to betray her. One loyalty in his life of treachery. The thought of her would keep him determined to stay alive, the payoff divine. He did not claim himself a good man, but he was her man, and it was the least he could promise her when she had given him more happiness than he could ever deserve._

_And yet there was still a crowning moment of justification to his choice._

_It had been a hit he carried out in Moscow, ten years ago. A prominent politician, this target had been, and it had been his wife that had ultimately divulged the man's location. He could clearly remember meeting with the woman in a rundown bar, a young and pretty thing by any stretch. In contrast her eyes were completely dead, her answers short and uninterested; the usual charming effect he had on women fell flat. She was closed off to the affections of men, and the intelligence she provided took considerable effort to follow up on._

_When he finally found her husband in a rented room with three women, the fulfillment of his goal turned out to be immensely satisfying. His wife's vacant eyes had not left his memory, her helplessness as a puppet for a greedy idiot. Though he was by no means a sentimental individual, her dark hair and clever face had reminded him of his own lover, thousands of miles away, and he supposed he had never missed her so much as in that moment._

_Somehow, that resigned expression of betrayal the jilted wife had worn made him feel shame for something he hadn't even done, and the reason for it would forever be a mystery to him._

_No, he would never call himself a good man. But he was her man._

His patience always seemed to carry through everything he did. He was in no rush to end the moment when he had to anticipate it with such fervent lust each time. Consistent work with RED meant the privilege of seeing her on a consistent basis as well, but being trapped with a host of questionably-sane mercenaries five days a week made it all the more appealing to have her at the end.

She smiled sleepily as one arm snaked around his neck, a simple movement of welcoming. "Rough week, honey? Y'look beat."

Like a cat settling in, he had nestled himself against her chest. Her softness, her scent, the feminine touch that he always missed. He chuckled softly. "Tired, but not dead."

A slight intake of breath escaped him as she gently stripped away the mask. It was something he was apt to forget, given the habit. But the darkness hung thick, the curtains were drawn shut. He permitted her to do so, and it was perhaps the most intimate and enticing part of their routine.

She had taken the initiative this time. Her lips were on his, a slight arch to her body. The deliberateness of his affection tended to torture her, a slow touch that traced over her ribs, her hips, earning a soft sigh from her kiss-bitten smile when he took to lightly nipping at her neck.

Sex brought them together where words couldn't. She would forget her own foolishness in nudging their youngest into his father's path; he could deny the bullet he had put in the boy's head countless times. It didn't need to be admitted between them for the time being, when finding the opportunity to be together had been an obstacle in itself.

Of course she knew exactly how to get at his ego, just as he had done with her image emblazoned on his most deadly weapon. The moment was approaching once their lovemaking had reached its pinnacle, and then she would gasp his name into the darkness___—_Reynard, simply a name, simply a souvenir, a token of trust___—_that single intoxicating appeal with an elegant power over him.

Still, he was not one to miss a chance to strike back, so he murmured his little pet names into her hair as she laid in the bliss of the aftermath, sweetly cliche promises and flattery_______—_and he left it all in French, naturally, taunting her with the incomprehension. A tired smile as her reply, he couldn't help feeling pride at the satisfied cadence of her breathing.

Then she would fall asleep against him___—__him_, a criminal, a paid killer_____—_guilting him with the kind of trust she had always had that he could protect her. She would always, always remind him like that: she was his girl, and he was her man.

And as far as he was concerned, being her man was more than he could have ever asked for.

* * *

**A/N**: I do notice I get quite a lot of views, so feedback is always appreciated. :) Hope I'm filling someone's niche for het.

I was going to title this "Monogamy Is Sexy Too" but then I figured, I'd just make it actually sexy and the results would speak for itself.

Best wishes,

-FP


	5. Partners

**Notes**: Just some pre-canon fluff. Special thanks again to Tokyo for being such a loyal reader. One of the only ones, actually. :|

**.05 ~ Partners**

x x x

"Y'know, I think stolen booze tastes better."

She took another swill from the wine bottle, leaning back against the cheap loveseat. With daylight quickly drawing to a finish, her face was cast in shadow, the window of the small apartment giving a strange quality to the interior. Even so, he could see her lips were pulled into a smile.

He chuckled at this as she rested a delicate hand on his leg. "Why is it that you always think I steal _everything_ I give you?"

"'Cause ya do, if it ain't nailed down," she replied simply, handing him the bottle. "Except ya aren't as good at it anymore, since ya got spoiled by me helpin' with it all the time now."

"Don't flatter yourself too much." A slight scowl had formed as he lowered the liquor from his lips, setting it down with a thump on the end table. "I work best alone. _You_, on the other hand, are still an amateur."

The teasing smile that accompanied the claim provoked an indignant "hmph" from his partner. She had reached for the shabby handbag that she always carried. Skeptical, he watched her rifle through it for a moment before she removed a chain, at the end of which was a pocketwatch that was quite familiar to him.

"All week I was looking for it," he muttered as she dangled it in front of his vision. "But how did—"

Before he could finish she had crashed her lips against his, the taste of alcohol strongly prevalent. He couldn't distinguish whether the heady feeling was from the wine, or the very clear sensation of her body finding its way into his lap. When she finally chose to end it, a prickle of amusement ran through him at the fact that he had ended up holding her tightly to him.

But she was laughing softly. In front of his face she held up a pack of cigarettes, one that he immediately knew had been liberated from his person.

"Just like that." She wore a smug grin. "Nothin' to it."

He rolled his eyes, earning another indignant frown from her. "Cheating. That is _cheating_, and you know it is. It doesn't take skill—"

"Oh, are ya gonna try to tell me there's rules about it?" she scoffed. "Don't get upset at _me_ that I beat ya at your own game."

All things considered, he couldn't help but respect her for it. He may have thought himself fairly good at what he did, but she still had him at her mercy in the end. Just to drive the point home, she had picked out a cigarette for herself before sliding it back into his coat pocket.

Draped across his lap on her back, she blew out a little cloud of smoke as she chuckled again. "Ya give away way too much with your face, Rey. I know ya ain't really mad at me."

She went to pluck the cigarette from her lips, but he had gently closed his hand around hers. He brushed his thumb over the small diamond that adorned it.

"I didn't steal this, you know. I mean that."

Another smile tugged at her expression. "Well, I wasn't gonna ask. Didn't matter to me."

He shrugged, a thrill of heat traveling through him when she shifted her body against him. The friction had his nerves—among other things—on end. "It belonged to my mother. She left it to me when she fell ill, along with some valuables. I sold the rest of it to afford passage out of the country after the Allies reached us."

The cigarette changed hands. He took a long drag of it, still looking at the ring thoughtfully.

"Why didn't ya sell it?" she finally spoke up. "It musta been worth the most, right?"

Again he shrugged. "I don't know, really. I didn't picture myself ever marrying at the time I received it." He handed the smoke back to her, instead burying his face against her neck. She had a sort of domestic scent to her, like linen. He preferred it over the pungent wine.

"But some things change," he finished, smirking. The hand he had been resting on her leg had traveled slightly upward to touch her thigh. "So it must have been meant to become yours."

She seemed to see through his sentimental charm to the ulterior motive, a small smile forming on her face. "Yeah, and some things don't change."

His expression became faux-innocent once more. "Oh? Such as?"

Deliberate, she did not answer right away. Rather she laid her head against his shoulder, her mannerism suddenly leisurely. He didn't trust it for a second.

"So," she started slowly, almost minxlike. "I heard the French are such _fantastic_ lovers. Is that true?"

He could sense the blood was rushing to his face; sometimes he absolutely hated when she teased him. The feeling of her soft breathing on his neck was beyond tempting, but then again she was somewhat drunk, and she would have no problem giving him hell for accepting her advances.

And yet, she didn't seem to mind not playing fair, didn't she?

They would be married soon enough anyway, and if she was intoxicated enough she might really think he was amazing. That idea seemed _pretty_ appealing, though he somewhat doubted there was any hiding virginity.

After all, even if she knew no more than him about the topic, he had a feeling she would tease him anyway. She had to knock him off of any pedastal he attempted to put himself on, no matter how lowly. But then she was kissing his neck again, and the wheels were definitely set in motion.

His dingy shared apartment didn't quite qualify as romantic, but he carried her to make up for it, bridal style, and she wrapped her arms around his neck with a demeanor of entrustment. Having her in his bed was a fantasy he had hoped to fulfill for far too long.

x x x

She had curled up to him afterward, her dark hair in her eyes, pleated dress still discarded carelessly over the dresser. An honor to him, considering the sex wasn't exactly exceptional for either of them. The whimpers of pain she had tried to conceal left a sensation of guilt, and he felt obligated to stay close to her for a while.

"Could've been worse," she smiled, somehow still compelled to wisecrack. It felt like her way of reassurance. "But definitely not fantastic. Ya sure you're French?"

He sighed, pushing a curl out of her eyes in a matter-of-fact fashion. "And _you_ probably think Da Vinci painted the Mona Lisa the first time he put a brush to canvas."

"He didn't?" Her brown eyes were playful. The ring on her hand stood out from where it laid on the blanket, radiant in the light that filtered in through the window.

"I'm just playin' with ya," she finally added. "You're fine. Cute, really, when you look all worried like that. Ya don't have to worry about me."

Her words sounded sort of surreal, his touch lingering at the small of her back. For a moment he considered simply falling asleep with her there, but his cousin would return from the shipyard soon and then there would be explanations that he didn't want to give. The not-so-romantic evening would have to end eventually.

But for the time being he didn't care. He let her cuddle into his chest, enjoying the brief moment of masculine victory. He wasn't going to tell her that he would always worry about her, that she was a liability to him _because_ of that very fact, and yet—

He was still just a kid in his own way, twenty years old, made cynical too soon by a war that devastated the only home he had ever known. There would be time enough to worry later. Right now he had finally made her his, and that was all that really mattered.

* * *

**A/N**: It's tough to write pre-canon without botching characterization, but I feel it'd be inaccurate to make characters act identical to their "current" selves. No one stays exactly the same throughout their whole life.

Best wishes,

-FP


	6. Aftermath

**.06 ~ Aftermath**

x x x

Morale always seemed to improve at that one time a week, on Tuesday evenings, when Soldier came strolling through the door with his arms full of various parcels and packages retrieved from headquarters. It seemed a surprise that he still remained BLU's designated man for the job, after more than a few occasions involving boxes ripped open and rifled through like a curious child had searched them. Any questions on the subject usually resulted in accusations that the package had been ticking and was an obvious security threat.

After one of the absolute worst days of his life, Scout had been moping on the barracks' beaten up old couch when several of his teammates filed in to get their mail for the week. Out of everyone, Engineer tended to get the most care packages from home, likely due to the fact that he was one of the few mentally sound enough to have a wife and children. Today, however, their disturbingly patriotic comrade had only left two parcels on the table. It didn't take long for Sniper to excitedly declare one of them to be the new rifle he had requested from Mann Co. Demoman grumbled some drunken complaints as he staggered from the room.

BLU's youngest member perked up a bit with interest as he watched his friend unpacking the weapon. If nothing else, it brought a brief distraction from his current troubles.

"So they finally sent you your new girlfriend huh?" he spoke up, trying to keep the irritation out of his tone.

The marksman smirked as he turned the weapon over in his hands, his admiration of it difficult to hide. "She _is_ a beauty. Can't wait to show 'er off to our friends on RED tomorrow." He took a look down the scope with a dark chuckle.

Scout remained silent. He didn't much want to think about the enemy faction right now, all things considered.

His lack of usual enthusiasm did not go unnoticed by the other man, who glanced up from his rifle at him. "You doin' all right, mate?"

"Been better," he shrugged, not too keen on discussing the issue that occupied his mind.

But it wasn't exactly a mystery.

"Look, kid. I know you're still sore about that spook makin' a big show of your mum's personal business." Sniper said the last few words carefully, as if contemplating how to be tactful. "RED's Spy is a tricky old bastard, so it's no big surprise that he took advantage of her. Don't let it get to you too much."

The younger man snorted. He doubted Sniper would be so easygoing if he found out his rival was nailing _his_ mother.

He chose to simply nod instead. It didn't feel right to be brooding like this, but his mother had always been a saint in his eyes. Having that violated by some backstabbing killer wasn't going to sit well with him.

"Did you see you got somethin' over here?"

Scout glanced over to see his teammate holding up a small package. He set his new treasure down for a moment, a bit reluctantly, to pass the small box over to its recipient.

The runner eyed the return address with a sense of anxiety. Before giving it too much more thought he had tore the package open, revealing a neatly folded piece of stationary atop a small tin. He unfolded it and quickly read the neat cursive handwriting.

"From home?" Sniper had gathered up his weapon once again, shooting a look in the direction of their sleeping quarters. Scout had a feeling he'd be keeping it close tonight, like a child with a new doll.

"She don't usually send me stuff like this," he replied with a tone of creeping suspicion, popping open the tin. He withheld the part about how he had specifically told her _not_ to do so, 'cause he wasn't a kid going to summer camp after all. "It's just some cookies. _Guilt_ cookies, I bet. 'Sorry I'm sleepin' with your enemy' cookies."

His teammate chuckled, but Scout only scowled down at the box in his lap. He hadn't meant for that to be funny, given the deeply troubling circumstances.

He sure as hell wasn't laughing about it.

x x x

Across the way from the BLU barracks, RED's most elusive member had retired to his quarters for the night. He wasn't particularly fond of keeping company with his teammates after hours. They would drink and make inane conversation, sometimes ending in fist fighting—which, more often than not, no one could remember the cause for the next day.

He tended to prefer reading in the evening, old novels that he suspected only someone like Engineer or Medic would have any knowledge of. It helped to ease the separation at the end of the day, the sense of leaving behind the war mentality for just a brief moment. The only time, perhaps, that he allowed his mind to wander to his personal life.

Which, as of today, had directly intersected with his professional life.

As if by instinct, his gaze drifted to the revolver that sat on the end table. The engraving on its muzzle gave him a little thrill of excitement, but tonight it was mingled with a sense of regret. Visiting her had been risky business, and being careless about it even more so. But ever since she had relocated to the local town to be close to their youngest, the temptation to pay a visit on leave always manifested quite strongly.

The evening's dinner had focused heavily on the affair, much to his actual dismay. As they'd sat around the mess hall's giant table, their team's Demoman had thrown an arm around him like an old drinking buddy, slurring a congratulation for his conquest. Even Engineer, the ever-moral southern gentleman, shot him a sly, in-the-know kind of smile over supper. The situation only became more awkward when jeers about whether the sex was good began.

He knew that just across the way, their son was probably lying awake right now, feeling angry and betrayed by his own mother. While RED team applauded him for bedding an enemy, BLU was most likely snickering when their Scout passed by them. It didn't bring him any joy to contemplate this fact.

Setting his book down for a moment, he lifted the gun from its resting place. He couldn't help but allow himself a small smile as he ran his fingers over the carving. There was no regret about their relationship, really. It may not have been conventional or particularly wise, but living without it seemed impossible. The real complication was in having his youngest son loathe him, all the while he and his brothers thought their father was dead or missing. Had he not loved his career of choice so much, he might have been a different parent to them, but she knew as well as he did that there was something ugly in him that loved death too much to part with it.

She had always said, after all, that the baby of their family reminded her most of his father. Didn't have his wit, perhaps, or his dashing good looks, but the arrogance and determination were all there. Maybe that was why she had told him to get the boy a position somewhere with RED, that his physical abilities might be of interest; she wanted them to be together in some strange way.

A shame that BLU had wound up contracting him instead. But he had refused to allow this to affect his professional performance, and he supposed a few knives to the back would only serve to wisen the kid up a bit.

At least there was comfort in the fact that no one knew their connection to each other; least of all Scout himself. As parents, they had taken the utmost care in keeping this information hidden, and perhaps it was best to keep it that way for the time being.

With a degree of affection rather unfitting of him, RED's Spy fondly returned the gun to its place at his bedside. He supposed that tomorrow he would be squaring off with a speeding whirlwind of hate and vengeance. A fondness for revenge did tend to run in the family, after all.

* * *

**A/N**: This is another slightly revised repost. I hadn't intended to repost this particular one but I decided it was a nice addition, and I'm feeling a bit too discouraged toward this collection right now to whip up something new. Hope you enjoy.

-FP


	7. Seven Times

**.07 ~ Seven Times**

x x x

Most people fell in love just once. It was the very meaning of the phrase, after all, to suddenly realize you couldn't bear to be without that someone, and as with all realizations, it only occurred once.

But he had always been an exceptionalist. He never operated inside the rules, never made apologies for the way he lived his life. Love was no different, of course, so it went that he even outdid the very concept itself. No, he didn't simply fall in love with her.

He had fallen in love with her no less than seven times.

x x x

_June 2, 1945_

Rain kicked up on the pavement as he made his way home to the rundown old tenement building, an unsatisfactory form of weather that irritated him with the way in which it got his clothing completely soaked in a matter of minutes. The day had started out bright and clear, only to turn into a late spring downpour once he had gotten a substantial distance from home. In light of the conditions he had abandoned his illicit efforts for the afternoon.

As he ascended the stairs to the third-floor room he shared with his cousin, thoughts shuffled to the imperatives once again. He hoped the rain was temporary. It tended to make his work more difficult and there were expenses piling up; rent, food, the occasional improvement to his wardrobe. Nothing marked a low status quite so much as being shabbily dressed.

It somewhat surprised him that his cousin had not caught on to the fact that his roommate did not earn his income in a legitimate fashion, but perhaps the man simply turned a blind eye to it. They were both lucky to have made it out of the country once most of it had been liberated; their family back home had not all been so fortunate. Doing what it took to survive was a wartime mentality that had not receded with the German threat.

He had been fishing in his coat pocket for his key when the sudden sound of shrieking and footfalls in the stairwell announced the arrival of children. Many of the neighbors were the families of working men, and their brats would make a nuisance of themselves in the hallways. Frowning, he had the key in the lock when a small body collided into the side of him, nearly knocking him off balance.

A second boy ran past the fallen child, who was already scrambling to his feet after him. "C'mon Tommy, watch where ya goin'! Slowpoke!"

Glaring venomously in the direction they'd run off in, he brushed at his clothing in irritation. He _hated_ children, and most of all the obnoxious ones. But then another voice appeared from the stairwell, and it was one that committed itself to his memory forever. Not soft, not melodious, but it was hers all the same.

"_John! Tommy!_ Ya say you're sorry this instant or I swear I'm gonna smack—"

The girl slowed as she approached him, smoothing down her dress that had been roughed up. She had apparently been running after her brothers, the blue umbrella in her hand being wielded suspiciously like a weapon. Seeming to notice this, she lowered it back to her side as she stopped beside him.

He was immediately put off; she was pretty, she was paying attention to him, and he was tempted to fall back on his usual escape out of a situation which consisted of acting like he didn't speak English very well, as was the case with most immigrants in the building. But she was already talking, and that was the equivalent of being trapped.

"Look, I'm really sorry mister." She touched his arm apologetically, her damp dark hair disheveled in her face. His pulse seemed to quicken at this. "The kids have me outnumbered, but I'll knock some sense into 'em later. On your behalf this time."

She started off down the hall, and he noticed she glanced back at him with a smile before disappearing around the corner. Immediately he suspected that she was teasing him, because she knew she was pretty and out of his caliber. He wanted to hate her for it, but he couldn't bring himself to.

And as much as he knew he should have said something—anything—to her, he had accepted long ago that there were some things he was not allowed to have, and she would be one of them.

x x x

_July 18, 1945_

"I just—I don't know. It looked like the sort of thing you would like. But if you don't want it—"

The corner of her lips had twitched up a bit, an amused smile he had seen on her before. She obviously had to be indicating that she did like the sunhat, because she was holding the box close to her chest. "Why wouldn't I like it? Weren't ya there when we walked by the window and I said 'Gee, that's a really nice hat, I sure would like that'?"

He glanced off to the side awkwardly. Being nice to her tended to get a bit embarrassing when she was so very _loud_ about it.

Suddenly the smile vanished, her expression becoming thoughtful. "How'd you afford this? It was in that expensive shop uptown."

For a moment he hesitated. "You remember that woman with the red dress, at the restaurant?"

"Mmm. Yeah, I remember all right," she muttered back. They had helped themselves to the unattended purse of a well-to-do woman that she had shown rather open dislike for. He had been reluctant to steal from her, primarily due to the risk factors involved in a theft with many possible witnesses, but she had been positive that it had to do with her looks. She pouted about it for the rest of the night, though they had made off with a nice amount for their troubles.

Her face softened as she thought about what he meant. "Oh God, Rey, don't tell me ya spent your half on it. I already got mine, don't you even—"

He kept his legendary poker face, ignoring her. "So you do like it then?"

She bit her lip as she ran her fingers again over the rather fancy box. "I do. I _really_ do."

"Then that's all there is to it," he concluded, shrugging. "Discussion over."

He had thought he won that round, but then she leaned up and kissed his cheek, standing on her toes to make up the substantial difference in their heights. He guessed from the sound of her giggling that he must have looked nothing short of shocked.

x x x

_August 15, 1945_

The building had become quiet for the night when they reached the door to the apartment she shared with her family. She was saying all of the predictable things—that dinner had been lovely, he had spent way too much on her, she would find a way to get even. But then he had turned to go and been met with a loud clearing of the throat noise from her.

He turned back, noting that her arms were folded in expectation. "What?"

She frowned at his lack of comprehension. "Whaddya mean 'what'? You're supposed to kiss me, ain'tcha?"

The invitation was one he planned on accepting—but not before teasing her first. She did too much of it to not deserve it.

"_Supposed to?_" he asked innocently. "Since when do ladies _demand_ a kiss?"

Her eyes became indignant. "Don't get smart with me. Ya _stole_ my first kiss last week without permission! I was supposed'ta land a good decent man, y'know, and then you come along—"

She glared more firmly at him when he started chuckling. "For what it's worth, it happened to be mine as well. That ought to make us even, though I'd like to think I'm the better catch between the two of us."

"You could've at least _asked_," she mumbled, her gaze flitting down to the ground. "'S'not like we were datin' or anything."

"You could have at least _acted_ like you didn't want me to," he smirked back. Her face had become slightly pink. "Now you're blushing, Kat, it isn't really like you to—"

He never got to finish, because she had grabbed him by the collar and pressed her lips to his.

The argument seemed to continue on through the kiss. She was coming on strong, trying to get a rise out of him, but it would take more than that and she seemed to know it. So she brushed her tongue along his bottom lip, some shyness to it, enticing him to lose control of the situation.

And maybe that was exactly what happened, because soon he had her lips parted, exploring her with a curious passion. A soft groan escaped her, the vibration sending him over the edge. His fingers were in her hair, her body flush against his. They had reached a truce.

x x x

_March 2, 1946_

They were married under unconventional circumstances.

He already knew his career was going to lead him in a terrible direction, so the whole event had been quiet and covertly false. The court had approved their paperwork and they were wed—it was as simple as that. He had created an alias rather than marrying under his true name, one which would soon cease to exist for anyone but her.

But he had saved enough to provide them with a small home, if nothing else, and their child growing inside her had provoked his instincts to protect her. They returned to it that night with a new awareness of the promise they had just made, consummated it in the dark where he could savor the sound of his name on her lips.

It wasn't until after their lovemaking had come to an end that she seized his hand, touching it gently to her stomach as she caught her breath. A reminder of something more important than them, perhaps. He traced small circles there until she fell asleep in his arms.

x x x

_July 19, 1946_

That summer night in London, he found himself unable to sleep. Something that could be expected when one had been contracted to carry out the first hit of his career. It wasn't so much nerves as it was a sense of wanting to be through with it and rid himself of the miserable city.

He dragged himself out of bed and over to the opposite side of the small hotel room, reaching into his valise for the silk nightgown he had smuggled from home. It was something he had taken with him in case he became lonely. He breathed in the scent that covered it, her floral scent, and felt a familiar feeling building up inside of him.

It was a good thing for his ego that she would never know what he did alone on nights like that. She would be, now and forever, his fantasy.

x x x

_August 3, 1946_

Considering the fact that he had remained steadfastly nearby during the expected week of arrival, he found himself rather put off by the fact that she had sent him out of the delivery room.

"Ya know you'll just panic," she had told him softly, her hand disconcertingly limp as he held on tightly to it. "It's just somethin' that I have'ta go through myself. It'll be over soon enough and then you better be in here to see your son."

It was something he decided to take her advice on. He didn't want to consider how many bodies they would have to clean up if he did anything to the effect of panicking. But he still paced and went through two packs of cigarettes waiting, until finally the nurse had come to retrieve him, a smile on her face. How many anxious fathers she must have seen, he supposed.

Genuine smiles weren't something he often allowed himself, but then he saw his wife and firstborn waiting for him and the everlasting exception was made.

x x x

_April 5, 1968_

There were no more children to raise, but there would always be the two of them and so life went on.

He felt like a ghost now, because he had a long list of enemies these days and so he came to her under the cover of darkness. The New Mexican night was filled with the thrum of cicadas, but he had already broken it with the sound of her satisfaction. She had joked afterward that they were going to attract the coyotes one of these days.

Teasingly brushing kisses along her throat, he finally noticed the golden locket around her neck. He touched it curiously.

"I don't remember this," he noted, smirking. "Did I give this to you?"

She matched his smile with a more devious one. "Oh, ya got it for me last week."

She must've taken his silence for confusion, because she reached into the drawer of the nightstand and removed something. "I didn't spend it all, so I guess I oughta give the rest back."

A thick wad of bills was pressed against his chest. "Sorry, honey. Old habits, y'know?"

He had wondered where that money had gone. Simply vanished, it had seemed, and he had assumed he misremembered the amount he had been carrying. She knew he would have given her anything she wanted, but taking it had been more exciting, and that was exactly what he loved about her.

And just like that he had fallen all over again.

* * *

**A/N**: I really, really love this one.


	8. Tryst

**Warnings: **More sexual content, of course, though not graphic. You ought to know that by now.

**.08 ~ Tryst**

x x x

_It had been over two months since last he had seen her._

_That must have been what made him so reckless, so utterly foolish—and cocky, most of all. His own belief that his expertise made him infallible, stealing away in the broad daylight, something bold that he would have taken care to avoid in his earlier years. Settling in with his new employment with Redmond Mann's company had made him wary enough to keep away from his nearby sweetheart for weeks on end, only to culminate in a complete lapse in judgement._

_Perhaps age did not beget wisdom after all._

_All the same he had done it, though, like a fox that went to ground to seek its mate. And she smiled when she had found him at the door, no flowers or empty words because none were necessary._

_Time had not been wasted in fulfilling their needs. She had pulled him down on top of her when they reached her much too lonely bed, guiding his touch to the hem of her dress. Not a suggestion, but an imperative._

_He smirked gloatingly against their kiss, his amusement breaking it. "Eager today, aren't we?"_

_"Ain't you the one who ditched work for this?" she teased back, only to end the sentence in a hiss of pleasure when his lips found the place where her neck met her shoulder. A little nibble and a swipe of the tongue, lightly sucking at the tender area. She unintendedly giggled with delight at the urgency of his affections._

_In retrospect, he didn't entirely blame himself for not considering that the blinds were ever so slightly parted. She made him positively drunk with rapture. Somewhere between the scent of her perfume and the taste of her skin, his sense of paranoia had briefly receded._

_Her breathing had become rapid in anticipation; he could draw some solace from the fact that she was coaxing him on, that his carelessness was only one element of the eventual drama. At this point his arousal had become nearly painful, and there was no denying he would carry through with his intentions._

_"Y—y'sure this is safe?" she asked quietly, a hum of approval following it as his fingers crept up her thigh, brushing at the thin lace strap that hugged her hip._

_He couldn't remember what he had answered her, but the end result was not in doubt. His intellectual side urged him to be gentle toward her, a reminder that this wasn't a battle, that he must treat her with deference rather than merely have his way. The carnal lovemaking always revealed to what extent being away affected his state of mind._

_And more so than ever before he felt the satisfaction of the act, the sensation of feeling needed by her in the best possible way. His profession had caused him to grow accustomed to the enjoyment of power, an addiction, but she provoked a curious condition where he felt a vulnerability that ultimately brought him a sense of wholeness. One mark of it was his regression to his native tongue, something he had left behind for the most part, and yet there she would have him whispering fondly in it to her. In some intangible way, she kept a part of him clean and innocent._

_He supposed that a latent instinct had alerted him to the presence of an enemy, because he had silenced her with an overwhelming kiss when the beginnings of his name came to her lips. This time he did not allow himself the privilege of hearing her say it, the sacred knowledge that she confessed him as the source of her ecstasy. His vanity would have to content itself with her exhausted gasps, and the simple fact that this beautiful woman was still his._

_To that end, he would later derive a devious sense of pride from the truth that his rival had seen what transpired._

But the feeling that currently filled him was nothing short of nausea.

He lingered at the back lot of RED's base of operations, nursing the third cigarette of the night as he stood idly. The photograph he held in his gloved hand was one of the less compromising ones—he had been holding her at the moment, and he could distinctly remember the desperation with which he had taken her soon after. He had grown more needy in his middle-age, he thought. Of course it had led him to endanger her.

God only knew where the rest of the file had made off to. Despite having liberated it from the enemy faction, their team's Scout had promptly thieved it after the others had a good round of laughter. It would be the closest the boy would get to a woman for the time being, no doubt.

Allowing a small sigh to escape him, he shredded the photograph before scattering it to the wind. He didn't need it to remind himself of her, much less to remind himself of his horrendously unprofessional mistake. While it was easy to play it off as a one-time seduction, something his coworkers seemed to applaud him for, he couldn't bring himself to feel proud of that viewpoint they shared.

The sound of a door closing brought him out of his thoughts, throwing a glance in the direction it had come from. From around the corner emerged one of his less deranged—if a bit unsavory—teammates.

"Figured I'd find you out here," the Australian muttered when he caught sight of his comrade leaning against the building. A familiar file was held in his hand. "I reckon this is yours, even if Scout don't agree on that. You can work it out later how you're gonna repay me for returnin' it."

Spy quirked an eyebrow at the other man's unusually terse tone. Though they weren't exactly friendly to one another, there seemed to be some added hostility over the topic.

"What compelled you to do me this favor, Mundy?"

The marksman's retreating back was to him, walking off toward the dirt lot where his home on wheels was parked. He could see his body stiffen in the early evening darkness; addressing him by name seemed to have that effect, at least when he did so.

He turned around to face his teammate, eyes hardening. "Don't get me wrong, spook. I did it for her sake, not yours."

_Her? _There was no reply on his tongue, and Sniper seemed to notice the discomfort. He chuckled under his breath.

"That's a lady that we're talkin' 'bout. Whoever's mum she is, I couldn't care less—she's still a lady, and she don't deserve gettin' used by the likes of you." His glare still appeared venomous, challenging.

"Beg pardon?" A bristle of aggression had risen to the surface. There were few things that could rustle him, and this man was hitting on number one of the list. "Did someone appoint you moral guardian of our little family, _bushman?_"

The name-calling had begun. It would have been open season from that point forward, but Sniper remained surprisingly unfazed.

"It's a funny thing, y'know, how all the beautiful women go for your kind," he went on calmly, almost smugly. "The kind that use 'em up and move on to the next."

"I am warning you _politely_, Mundy, to end that train of thought. Do _not_—"

"—A woman of your age, see, I wouldn't expect to buy your act so easily."

The knife in his pocket felt smooth and satisfying as he wrapped his fingers around it. He forced himself to contain his anger—he couldn't draw a weapon on an ally, even if he deserved it.

"I'm only saying it one final time. Leave it alone, or else—"

The hostile smile had not left the Australian's face. "But I s'pose I stand corrected, 'cause it looks like y'made her your whor—"

In an instant the sentence came to an abrupt end. Spy had struck, and whenever he struck he only did so once. One blow across the jaw had sent the man to the dust. The victor stood over him with his fist still raised before slowly lowering it. He had been given fair warning.

He ignored the shocked look on his teammate's face. "You can say what you will of me, _bushman_, anything you like for all I care. Some of it I suppose would be true. But you won't speak ill of her around me—_ever_."

The violent anger in his chest peaked, forcing him to pause to collect himself for a brief moment. "You'd do well to not forget that, because I don't need to be hiding half a mile away to kill you. Anywhere, any time."

And he left him there without another word.

x x x

It must have been nearly ten o'clock when there came a knocking on the door of his van. There could be no mistaking who it had to be, given his limited social interaction, but why he would return mystified the gunman.

He had taken the ice off of his bruised face when he opened the door, too embarrassed to answer the caller while holding it to his injury. Judging from the Spy's slight wince, there must have been an ugly swelling, and perhaps that was just as humiliating.

"Wha'dya want?" he questioned, more exhaustion than anger in his tone. "Come to finish what y'started?"

The dark shadow that crossed the other man's face made his inner antagonizer shrink back, though just as quickly it had vanished again. "I came to _apologize_, rather, but if you're making a suggestion..."

Sniper rolled his eyes at the implication. "C'mon in. I have some coffee I just made. I don't accept no apologies until y'give me some explanation for that business back there."

As silent as ever before, Spy sat at the van's small table with the same air of refinement as one would at any restaurant. He didn't even pull any faces about the coffee or the state the vehicle's interior was in. The cigarette he had lit up seemed enough to keep him serene.

"So," Sniper began, sticking the ice pack back to his injury. Not a whole lot of sense in trying to avoid that mark of shame. "What's the story with this woman? Your favorite girl or somethin'?"

The Spy's blue gaze roved over him briefly before settling on the closed window. Checking, watching. He chuckled softly. "You're lucky I trust you almost as much as I dislike you, you know. Remember that my threats remain good if you ever reveal anything that is said in this room."

His neck hairs stood on end at the passive calmness with which he made the promise of death. This man made the other team's Spy seem like a harmless housecat.

"That being said," he continued at last, "No, I wouldn't say my _favorite girl_. My only girl, more appropriately."

He sighed impatiently at the puzzled surprise on his teammate's face. "She's my wife, Mundy. Since I was hardly Scout's age it's been the way of it."

The inside of the van remained silent for a solid thirty seconds, only broken by the ticking of a clock.

"You—_what?_" Sniper had set his mug of coffee down hard, causing some to spill out onto the table. The other man wrinkled his nose in distaste, but he did not interject a comment, instead allowing the marksman to collect himself.

"I'm not repeating it, you nitwit. You heard what I said," he huffed back. "Don't act so taken aback, either. It's unbecoming—even of a man of your intelligence level."

"No no no, don't get me wrong." The Australian grimaced with pain as he removed the ice for a moment. "I just—y'can't blame me for bein' surprised, can ya? D'ya really think you come across like you're that sort of person?"

Spy glanced off to the side again, an evasive gesture. "I suppose not. But still waters run deep, don't they? How much could you say you know about me?"

A shrugging response. "Not much, but you don't seem much of the marryin' type to start with."

"And yet that's exactly what I did," he replied simply, crushing the dead cigarette into the ashtray. "Of course, it wasn't supposed to be public knowledge. Visiting her like that was nothing short of insanity, but one does stupid things to have their needs met."

Feeling more and more abashed, Sniper had lowered his gaze to the table. "I'm real sorry, spook. For whatever that's worth, comin' from me."

"As I said before, I won't blame you for what you think of me. I'm not ignorant of how you believe me to be." He had gradually made his way back to the door, shaking his head as he stood facing it. "You should know, however, that I do believe in loyalty. To our organization, for one thing. And to her. A man who betrays his lover does not deserve her, and while I may not deserve her for many reasons..."

He paused, a small smile creeping on to his face. "...that is not one of them."

The Sniper sat for several moments alone in the van after his teammate had made his exit. Some question nagged at the back of his mind, and it hit him with full force when the pieces fell together in his head. He couldn't believe it hadn't dawned on him before.

He ran to catch up with the elusive man as he made his way back to their base.

"'ey, spook!" he blurted out as he arrived at his side. "That doesn't mean—you're not—"

Spy rolled his eyes again, impatient and yet somehow still amused. "Yes?"

"The kid—BLU's runner. Is he...?"

His reluctant friend's body went rigid at the inquiry. He seemed to falter, hesitating, before he nodded curtly and started off again, leaving the marksman standing dumbfounded.

"I'm not the coward you've thought me to be, Mundy. Take care to remember it."

The other mercenary chuckled softly. "Honor among thieves?"

"Something like that."

* * *

**A/N**: Phonetic accents I will not write. Nor will I portray Sniper as going MATES MATES MATES. It could be because I have a good friend at the college who's Australian and she'd beat me to death if she saw me portraying Aussies inaccurately. I know Sniper's a stereotype, as they all are, but I'm trying to bring them to life, not inflate their cliches. I only mention this because breaking convention tends to...invoke whining.

For some reason I wrote this while listening to music, and I somewhat owe my inspiration to "I Am The Highway" (by Audioslave) 'cause it just reminds me of Spy every time I hear it...I can't seem to stop myself from alluding to him as a fox as well, his name even means such - 'Reynard' was a famous trickster character that even became the basis for the French word for fox.

Best wishes,

-FP


	9. East and West

**Warnings: **Some sexual content. Still not motivated to make this M because I feel like M is a relative rating, and I know what people rate M. And it ain't this level of sex.

**Notes: **Kipling once wrote: _Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet, till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat._

**.09 ~ East and West**

x x x

Nudging a chunk of meat across the plate, the young man at the table heaved an overdramatic sigh. Her youngest son had always been prone to small fits of brooding interspersed in his normally overconfident exterior. She supposed he might have developed a sort of dual nature from his upbringing, the cocky runt of the litter with an uncertain mama's boy underneath.

"Enough of the theatrics for tonight, sweetheart," she chided gently, setting a pitcher of lemonade down at the dinner table. After so many years of a rowdy mess of children, it seemed odd to now be left with only her last boy. Even now he would be leaving her soon as well, if he wasn't still too attached to her apron strings.

He didn't answer her teasing with any of his usual self-assured banter. A much more genuine sigh escaped the dark-haired woman.

"Y'know, I don't think Andy had a date to senior prom either." She didn't look at him as she poured herself a glass of lemonade and sat down to her dinner. "It's nothin' to be ashamed of. Give it a few years and girls will be fightin' over a sweet boy like you."

His cheeks flushed slightly. "Ma, c'mon. Andy didn't care about nothin' but gettin' into that college. D'ya really have to make me feel _worse_ about it?"

"You're just like your father. Always—" She paused for a moment, catching herself. She tried to avoid the subject around the boys, but there were times that it slipped out, most so with this son in particular. Every so often it became possible to forget that they knew very little of the man that had sired them, very little save for an old picture in her bedroom and some stories. The wedding band she still wore around her finger only served to increase the occasional prying.

And like a slowly spreading disease, some secrets began to outlive their benefits. Secrets kept out of love were no exception.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Nevermind. It's nothin', just a sappy memory."

"No—wait." Her son had stopped stirring his food around idly, now looking up at her with intrigue. "What about Dad?"

"I...well," she began weakly. She did not normally hesitate—couldn't afford to when she had been the sole parent to a pack of children. "Ya just remind me 'a him at your age sometimes. Kinda awkward, but in the cute way."

Another rush of red to his face, returning to looking at his food. "Jeez, I should'a known better. I thought it would be somethin' cool like 'Dad was a total super badass just like you' or somethin'."

She smiled at her boy, the one closest to her heart if she were to be truly honest with herself. His gray-blue eyes, the ones none of his brothers had inherited. Her boy that always said goodbye, always helped her carry the groceries, always wanted to make her proud.

And as much as it made her happy, it broke her heart just a tiny bit more each time to know that his father wasn't there to share that sense of pride.

x x x

Her breathing was heavy once the peak of their intimacy had passed, her light form still straddling his in a pose that told no lies of the slight desperation that characterized sex between them. Sometimes weeks had passed—occasionally a month or two. But it always started out with the same game. He would take his time in unclothing her, a territorial kiss that he had a tendency to dominate, and then somehow he would be the one telling her to keep the noise down before they woke the children up.

Their bodies remained in contact for a few moments; the world became lucid again as he waited to feel her body relax against his before making the final withdrawal. He knew he was still too proud to admit how much he needed these long nights of passion between them, though he realized a confession did not always have to be in words.

He didn't quite know why it embarrassed him to be caught in his continuing infatuation for her sometimes. It called to mind a time when she had discovered a lacy top of hers stowed in his suitcase, immediately drawing the conclusion that he was involved in an affair. He could feel his ego shrinking when he forced himself to casually remark that he had thieved it from her dresser.

She drew him out of his thoughts with a playful laugh. "You're spacin' out again, Rey. Don't tell me I'm startin' to bore you."

A smirk played across his face as he shook his head. She had rested her head on his chest, her brown eyes hard to see in the dimly lit room. "Not at all. Only that I've wasted my energy in keeping _you_ entertained, _ma minette_. If you'll forgive me that."

Another tired chuckle resonated in her throat. He could feel the vibration of it from the closeness of their bodies. "Always a smartass. Your youngest is pickin' up on that, y'know—seven years old and talkin' back. He's gonna give ya a run for your money someday."

When he gave no response, she sighed. "I ain't gonna lie, honey. You're always gonna hear about how much I wish they could seeya. I wouldn't think that if I didn't love ya so damn much."

Still silence. The topic of their children had been one of contention from the very start, and though she had known she would be raising their offspring alone, many a bitter argument had broken out over it. It had been one reason why they never left Boston, as her sister had been a considerable help in keeping them managed. Though his income allowed her and the children to live comfortably, it was yet another thing she most certainly had to form lies about.

"You're not a bad father, y'know," she muttered quietly, and he shuddered slightly at the feeling of her breath against his throat. "I knew you couldn't be there for 'em like I would be. What ya do keeps us fed, and if it's the thing you're good at, so be it."

He couldn't even begin to form the confession that was lurking in his heart. He had always been a good husband, protective and loyal—but father was not a word he could ever handle hearing someone call him. The thought of it petrified him with fear he wouldn't admit, least of all to the woman he adored.

And as much as he loved his sons, he knew that the love that lasted the longest was the one that was never returned.

x x x

_An eight-year-old boy crouched at the mouth of the alley, sniffling softly. He had tried to keep up with his siblings—he had promised his mother he wouldn't stray from them. But then he'd stumbled like the clumsy kid that he was and skinned his knee. When he heard someone approaching, he quickly wiped the tears away._

_Sam, secondborn and de facto deputy of their familial clan. He knelt down beside his brother, and the boy was expecting a rough teasing, but instead he was tugged gently to his feet._

_"Ricky, ya gotta be more careful. Ma'll never let me hear the end of it if you keep gettin' hurt like this," he scolded him quietly. His tone dropped lower when he saw the tears in his brother's eyes. "Hey, be tough like Dad was, right? Just pretend he's watchin' ya, make 'em proud and all."_

_He stood on shaky legs, ignoring the slight pain as his brother led him off. One day he _was_ gonna be tough and leave the rest of them in the dust._

His temper burned as he pursued the flash of red into the large shed. He figured the man had escaped by now, clever as he was despicable. The steel bat in his hand was thirsty for blood.

"Ya fuckin' coward!" he spat angrily, bringing the blunt end down on the wooden wall. "Stay the fuck _away_ from my Ma if y'know what's good for ya!"

He felt sick and disgusted by the whole matter. Hadn't his Ma always said no one would replace his father? What the hell had this snake told her to change that so quickly?

And as much as the rage still burned in his chest, he knew there was little he could do to change what had already happened. His dad was probably dead, and Ma had found someone else—the last person on earth that he could approve of.

The man hiding around the corner knew something the young man did not. He swore under his breath as his enemy retreated back to the battlefield.

_We should never meet our heroes._

* * *

**A/N:** Where'd my readers/reviewers go? *crickets chirp*


	10. Immortalized

**.10 ~ Immortalized**

x x x

The smallest twitch of a smile found its way onto his face as he emerged into the crowded Paris thoroughfare.

His recently retrieved commission had been wrapped carefully in cloth by its engraver and concealed on his person until such a time that he could take a longer look at it. From the brief glance he had stolen of it in the shop, he had no doubts as to its perfection.

To that end, only two questions remained. The first regarded whether he had the fortitude of pride to allow her to see the petty little token of love. And the second? Whether she had found her way back to the crossroads that they had agreed to rendezvous at.

Still his thoughts were drifting to the item that he could feel hiding against his body, the anticipation of seeing it in the light. That happened to be one of his favorite traits of a weapon—how the light glanced off of it. Whether it be a knife or a gun, he found that particular attribute irresistible. Enhancing it with a fine image such as the one he had given it only magnified that greatness.

Turning the corner, his gaze immediately found the spot they had agreed to meet at; her bright yellow spring dress drew one's eye straight to her. In years past she would have had her dark hair falling down in loose curls past her shoulders, but age and motherhood had left her with only enough vanity to keep a short and simple style. Even still she remained nonetheless ravishing, and nonetheless his.

Her eyes were currently directed down at the ground. He said nothing as he approached the bench she had seated herself on, making note of the way she was nervously fiddling with her purse. She did not seem to notice him until he had taken the spot beside her, and he could feel her glance over at him sideways.

"Don't I know ya, stranger?" she chuckled, though her voice remained uncharacteristically hesitant.

He smiled almost coyly at her. "We could pretend you don't. Then I'd say something horribly cliche, sweep you off your feet, and—"

"Hm. I think I'll pass this time." Her eyes were playful as she shot him down. "Too tired even for being swept off my feet, honestly."

"I was more expecting you to go overboard shopping, actually," he finally pointed out. "But it seems like _you've_ been waiting on _me_, if I'm not mistaken."

She shook her head despondently. "It's just weird. Not speakin' the language and all. Plus, I don't think people here like me much."

"I do recall telling you that this place wasn't much else, other than something nice to look at," he snorted, catching the irritation that instantly sprang to her expression. "This city wasn't where I grew up, in any case—it's not any more hospitable than New York or London. You're just a hopeless romantic, Kathryn. _Hopeless_."

"Well, I thought it would be a nice anniversary spot!" A slight red had come to her face. He couldn't help but find it incredibly amusing to see her out of her element like this, flustered and defensive. "I always wanted to visit Europe. Not just 'cause of you, either, mister."

He shrugged, a resigned smirk on his face. "Then we'll go do something _cultured_, if that's what you were expecting. Look at art, have a bite to eat. You don't even have to talk to anyone, _kitten_."

She scowled at him, her purse raised ever so slightly in a threatening I'm-going-to-hit-you-for-calling-me-pet-names-in-p ublic gesture, but it must have occurred to her that likely no one understood or cared about their little conversation. She took the hand he was offering her with a challenging smile of her own.

Still, the subtle tones of self-consciousness underlying that smile only made his thoughts drift right back to his newly embellished weapon. Whether or not he allowed her sight of it would be a battle between his egotism and his sense of guilt. And when it came to his beloved, guilt always seemed to prevail.

x x x

If there could be one single thing he found least favorable about traveling abroad, it would be an empty bed. Every time he returned to their home in Boston he became positively spoiled by her warm body beside his at night. They both had always been on the more physically affectionate side when the mood struck, and being deprived of her had a way of feeling like an undeserved punishment.

With that in mind, he found this trip particularly enjoyable. If only he could take her everywhere he went; they could be partners again, outlaws, perhaps even master jewel thieves.

Outside of their hotel room, the city was surprisingly quiet. She had curled herself up against his back, fingers playfully drawing little patterns as she fell asleep. And in the nightstand, he had carefully hidden his pride and joy—just in case business had followed him. He hadn't broken down yet to acknowledge the embarrassment it would cause him for her to see it just yet.

Until it started.

"Mmm...Rey?"

She said it in a tone of voice he was intimately familiar with. Without fail it preceded a question he wouldn't want to answer.

He took the bait anyway. "Yes, _Kat?_"

They had exchanged their little nicknames, almost like a secret handshake of sorts. Now she would cut to the quick.

"D'ya...well..." She paused, hesitating. "Y'don't regret marryin' me, right?"

For almost a full half of a minute he remained silent. Dumbfounded could have been the word to describe it. "You ask me this—what—over twenty years later? Do you suppose I'd still be here if I did?"

A small sigh escaped her. He could feel it on the nape of his neck, and despite everything it still gave him a shiver of desire. "It's just that there's so many young 'n pretty girls here, I see 'em everywhere we go. And I figured, I ain't gettin' any younger myself. I've had lots'a kids, and years of gray hair from raisin' 'em."

She paused again, striking him right in the heart with her sad demeanor. "I'm not pretty anymore, that's what I'm sayin'. You could have your pick of much better girls if you hadn't tied yourself up with me."

He released a sigh filled with at least twice as much exasperation. "You pick the strangest times to have a midlife crisis."

"So what I'm sayin' is true," she answered flatly. "I'm old and you're probably sick of me—"

With another world-weary groan he had gently broken away from her, reaching into the nightstand for a certain something. Handling it carefully, he set it down on the pillow beside her.

"You know what this is—I know you do. I've had it since shortly after we were married. A dear favorite of mine, given how many times it's saved my life." The corner of his lips curved up the slightest bit, almost a smartass air about him again. "I had it _modified_ recently. It should answer your question regarding the woman I so clearly don't love anymore."

She tilted it up in the moonlight that filtered in through the window, catching the white light on the surface. The figure it depicted had an almost nymphlike beauty, enticing, and yet her face was not of simple glamor. The eyes suggested wit and intelligence with the slightest hint of playfulness, nearly vulpine in the way they showed a sort of enigmatic nature. A presentation that was altogether seductive, but achieved with the same irresistible reverence with which one might regard Venus come to life.

The woman holding it began to chuckle softly. It was as close as his arrogant self was going to get to telling her that he would always find her absolutely stunning.

x x x

RED's Engineer tinkered away with his dear sentry gun that he had positioned on a blind corner near the entrance to their base. The day's assignment had brought them to a location where two adjacent bases faced each other across a narrow bridge, the entire setup appearing as a factory and farm to the outside onlooker. Some farcical name had been given to the 'factory' in question, but RED team had taken to calling it Doublecross amongst themselves.

Casually smoking a cigarette, the Spy watched his teammate labor away at the device. A nervous—almost mistrusting—glance was shot in his direction every few minutes, as though he might shapeshift into a Hydra at a moment's notice. With their fire-loving sentinel chasing after a shadow he had seen disappear down the base's stairs, the most elusive member of the force had paused for a few moments to keep watch for their Engineer. The Sniper going about his sport a few feet away, under the protection of the sentry, would probably stand to benefit from the extra pair of eyes as well.

He snorted to himself. Not that he enjoyed playing nursemaid to these two, but their support made his job that much easier. He supposed he could afford to lend a hand now and then.

The Texan dragged his glove across his forehead, sighing. He glanced back at his teammate leaning against the dispenser with a bored attitude about him, examining his drawn revolver as he took another drag from his smoke.

A slightly incredulous laugh escaped him. "Aw—you didn't. You _did_. _Really?_"

Frowning, the Spy picked the cigarette from his lips. "What is it?"

"That." He pointed a yellow-gloved finger at the gun. "That's just in poor taste. I'm all for rubbin' in a good victory, but when you're sleepin' with a young fella's mother, y'oughta give it a rest at some point."

The only response he could muster was a small smirk.

"Now, she's a beautiful woman and all, judgin' from the pictures at least," the Engineer went on, a slightly uncomfortable tone to his voice. "An' I understand, with your _profession_, that you ain't exactly the most upstanding sort of man. But don't you ever get sick of takin' other guys' women, rather than havin' one of your own?"

"I can't say it's something I've ever bothered to think about." Tilting the gun up a bit, he caught the light over its surface. His tone remained as unreadable as ever. "I wouldn't expect a woman to be true to me any more than I would be to her, to be quite frank."

Just behind the Texan, the Sniper lowered his rifle, casting a glance over at his masked teammate. One of his eyebrows had quirked in what the Spy didn't dare believe was amusement.

Engineer had fallen back into working on his sentry, more out of anxious boredom than necessity. "Well, that's a shame if y'ask me. Me and my Cynthia—goin' on twenty-two years this April if y'could believe it. I wouldn't trade 'er for anything, myself. But I still say y'didn't need to stick that on your gun just to get that poor BLU bastard angry."

_Bastard._ It was a standard insult, but one that dealt a particular punch in this instance. The Spy flicked his dead cigarette to the ground, crushing it underfoot. "Don't misunderstand, laborer." He paused—couldn't trust himself not to resort to name-calling and let his temper show. "That's not the only reason. As you said, she _is_ such a fine woman, after all—though, most so on her back, I will admit."

The words tasted traitorous on his lips, traitorous to himself rather than an enemy. The more indignant he was getting, the more he only turned it upon the wrong target. It reminded him of a trapped animal that gnawed its own leg off.

"Ain't my business to judge you, I s'pose," the Engineer shrugged. "But like I said, I sure don't envy you either."

With that he had walked off toward their resupply, muttering something about needing extra metal. Once the man was well out of earshot, the Spy could feel their third teammate traipsing over to the dispenser. He rummaged in it for some ammo, and the Spy with his gaze cast off toward the wall sensed his stare had fallen on him.

"So that's what shame looks like on you, eh spook?" he teased quietly, though he seemed to be pulling the punch. "Never thought I'd live to see the day."

His teeth clenched. "I don't expect you to understand my position, _bushman_."

"You _are_ askin' for it, y'know." He shook his head. "Right there for everyone to see 'n all."

"It was—" The Spy stopped short, deliberating the level of truth he wished to impart. His voice became barely audible. "—it was never meant to be...vulgar. Quite the opposite."

He flashed the barrel at his teammate. "But you are right. If nothing else, my crime is being a bit _too_ proud of her."

The Sniper smirked in return, a sort of understanding in his expression. It would take much longer, he thought, to grant himself that kind of forgiveness.

x x x

Across the battlements, BLU's Sniper stood in his nest. Their Scout whipped past him on the way back from the dispensary, throwing back a sip of Bonk as he headed out into the fray again. His wiry body came to a full stop as his teammate called out to him from his position.

"'Ey, kid! Y'seen what the spook on RED's been carryin' around lately?"

The Scout narrowed his eyes, a shadow immediately crossing his face at the mention of the word. "The hell are you talkin' about?"

An even wider smirk broke out on the Australian's face. "Oh, nothin'. Just your dear old mum carved into his gun, all spread out like a pin-up. D'ya suppose she might do a calendar for us sometime, for our locker room?"

The loud sound of a can being crushed filled the small balcony, and before it had even hit the floor the boy was charging off to the battlements.

* * *

**A/N**: This turned out sadder than I had planned...oh well.

I'd like to thank my friend Cross for his support on this! I was so tickled to hear you liked it, pal. :) And to everyone else who has lent their support. You silent readers, I'd really love to hear from you, you have no idea. It just makes me so unbelievably happy to get a word of praise, most so when you actually say what I've done right. It really helps when you're sort of...not being fanon-y.

Much love,

-FP


	11. Kitten

**Notes**: Another short and fluffy interlude between chapters, somewhat derived from #5 in this series. I had partially written it a while ago and left it for a rainy day; being that I had no extra work this weekend I took the task of finishing it. It takes place between those two scenes. :) In the interest of clarity, ScoutMa is eighteen here, and Spy is twenty.

**Warning**: While this chapter does concern sex, it is neither graphic nor quease-inducing. It's something that would definitely pass on public television.

**.11 ~ Kitten**

x x x

For too long she had waited to see him like this, a mild flush in his face and blue eyes completely absorbed in her. The ring on her finger that meant they would be wed soon, surely that spoke volumes on his dedication to her, and she did not doubt the sincerity with which he had courted her these past months.

The moment she had been waiting for still, however, happened to be the sight of this proud man at last losing his grasp on that calm and collected persona.

Now that her body rested beneath his, his demeanor had shifted sharply to one of anxious anticipation. Mere minutes ago, in a decision at least partially fueled by alcohol, she had given him that final nudge he needed to make them lovers, a not-so-subtle taunting comment that betrayed her intentions. And, ever a gentleman, he had carried his bride-to-be to his bed that was much too small for the both of them, the two of them locked in a kiss that elicited an intoxicated moan here and there. She had rid him of the classy coat of his suit___—_he paid particular care to such things the closer they had become___—_and she had smiled against his lips when he returned the action by tugging the blue ribbon out of her lengthy hair.

In the darkness of the early evening she led him forward with her to rest on the comfort of the mattress, his touch lingering at her waist. It was not until their kiss had led him to a position of pinning her gently to the bed that he became fully appreciative of their current predicament. The nervous smirk on his lips was an obvious attempt to save face, and instead he seemed to be waiting for her to lead him on again.

Maybe, she thought, this was a silent plea for some sort of sign. Their business of theft together had come to involve many unspoken cues, and she was no stranger to reading small hints in his mannerism. His ego wouldn't put words to it, but then, that might have also been a touch of the shyness she knew lived under his supposed indifference.

Her hand slipped into his, earning a gentle squeeze back. The look of uncertainty dissipated the slightest bit. Another kiss brushed against her temple, then traveling down her neck at a painstakingly slow pace. Those clever hands of his, so quick to steal whatever he set his sight upon, now moved in an almost clumsy fashion to unbutton the front of her dress. She had to hold in the heady gasp when his lips trailed in a steady line down the path of the open fabric, warm tongue ghosting over her skin with ease.

Caught up in the sensation, she felt a rush of heat to her face when he stole a short glance up at her. He seemed almost smug about the pleasure she derived from his work, and on any other occasion she would have made sure to wipe that look from his face with some sharp comment.

But in this particular case, she supposed they both were winning in their own way.

The approval she had shown appeared to be enough to urge him on. Her dress was slowly finding its way off of her body, owing in part to her own compliance with the process. Another adrenaline rush coursed through her when his attentions focused in on removing the light garment that hid her chest, the concentration in a trance-like state. This turned out to be yet another easy task for him, and her breath froze in her throat when deft fingers traced over the sensitive skin. Capturing her lips again in an increasingly desperate kiss, he matched his teasing actions in accordance to the soft hums she made.

Still, if her modesty was going to be sacrificed here, she decided that his would be too. With an equally skilled hand she had his own shirt off, skimming the contours of his chest in light strokes. The vibration of an amused laugh permeated their entangled lips. She could only giggle when his amusement turned to a needful groan as she pulled his body back down upon hers, his hands wandering down to her hips with a fascinated slowness.

Within a matter of minutes they had gradually shed whatever still separated their skin, caught in an inevitable endpoint where their bare bodies could touch between the sheets. Still stroking at her hips in a blatantly enamored manner, she felt blue eyes on her again. Looking for a sign once more as they stood on that precipice of completion. She answered it by rubbing her body encouragingly against his, and with that cue they were over the edge and into unexplored territory.

The meeting of flesh drew a grunt of pleasure from him that even his deceitful tongue couldn't catch, the slow friction overtaking his senses. Her quiet hiss of pain followed it, the reaction at once bringing him back to the present moment. He halted briefly, no longer proceeding until she murmured a softly insistent reassurance against his lips. Their rhythm was far from poetry, but the anticipation had been so immense that he was left nearly incoherent from the sheer gratification. She gradually relaxed her body against his as the discomfort grew less intense. The angle of their bodies provided a thrill with each measure, and she couldn't help feeling a profound sense of connection to the young man holding her close.

As the moment hit its crest, a few strained words escaped him. French again, she noted, something he only returned to when she either frustrated or endeared him beyond his instantaneous ability to translate. They lay together in a silence once the end was reached, breathing heavily and covered in a thin layer of sweat.

Coming back to the reality at hand, he buried his face into her shoulder, in the long curls that fell past them. His eyes wouldn't find hers, and she sensed a certain uneasiness, perhaps apologetic embarrassment, for the unpracticed technique. She considered telling him that it was unavoidable, but instead simply ran her hands along his back in comforting sweeps. A few more words unknown to her spilled forth from his liquor-loosened lips. She paused in her soft touches for a moment.

"Y'keep callin' me that, Rey," she chuckled under her breath. "When d'ya plan on tellin' me what it _means_?"

An equally amused chuckle answered the question. "_Minette? _It sort of means...well___—_"

"_Yes_...?"

He twirled a lock of her hair through his fingers, clearly reluctant, before coming back in a matter-of-fact tone.

"_Kitten_."

* * *

**A/N**: I hesitated to make this from her perspective, because that is often how obnoxious self-insert type fics go. But my rationale was that I have made almost all of these from Spy's point of view and I feel like I should give her some attention too. Thus, this happened.

Does anyone see a little resemblance between Scout and his father here? ;)

**To my anon reviewers: **Even though I can't message you back, I thank you profoundly for your words and support! I really appreciate hearing from you and I'm glad you are enjoying this.

Best wishes,

-FP


	12. Carried Away

**Note**: No warnings on this except that Scout has a bit of a mouth.

**.12 ~ Carried Away**

x x x

While each and every one of RED's members had some peculiar thing about them that made a person tend to look twice—ranging from a subtle air of ominousness, to obvious insanity—their individual oddities were nothing compared to what a bizarre bunch they made combined as a group. Any stranger that had just rolled into the small New Mexican town on a Friday evening would likely have been left scratching their head at the pack of men crowded into the row of booths of the all-you-can-eat buffet, which happened to sit just off the interstate.

A giant of a man, whose mass took up the majority of the table space, hunched over an equally enormous plate of food, where a much smaller bespectacled fellow with a German accent could be heard admonishing him for shoveling the food into his mouth in great forkfuls (_"Chew first, dummkopf! It helps vith the digestion.") _In the adjacent booth a lanky man wearing aviators eyed the remains of a chicken leg while the two on either side of him—one short and bald, the other sporting a gas mask over his face—argued animatedly about something or other, though the argument was hard to follow when one side of it consisted entirely of muffled grunts. The third table in the row housed a one-eyed Scot and a wild-eyed man who would typically have been loudly joining in the argument at the other table, had he and his friend not been tearing through a plate of ribs as fast as their mouths would let them.

Every week it had become customary for the team to dress down into their civilian's clothing and pile into the Sniper's van for a hearty dinner before heading their separate ways for the weekend. The two days off almost made up for the fourteen-hour days of nonstop fighting, and while they enjoyed each other's company for that final evening of each work week, each also seemed glad to be rid of the others for a short time after so much spent in close quarters together.

Only one member of the team sat apart from his comrades, quietly thinking and smoking behind the balaclava that he never removed in the presence of coworkers. Though he was willing enough to join them on their weekly outing, he had little interest in sharing the meal. Certainly not when he had the pleasure of returning home to his lady's cooking that very same evening, which definitely surpassed the greasy roadside buffet food by far. The others seemed to know by instinct, as well as experience, that their fellow mercenary was not to be bothered when he cast himself away from them—in battle as well as out of it.

Everyone on the team, that is, save for one perpetually tactless young Scout.

While the ever-energetic young man typically had his pickings piled on a plate and whisked to a table before the others even made it in the door, this time RED's Scout had been the very last to attend the meal. The reason for this was fairly obvious considering the entire team had seen him come grinding to a halt at the door when he spotted a woman approximately his age on her smoke break outside the door. As regular customers, the whole team now expected him to make a pass at her every time she fell within his range of vision.

And if his disappointed frown was anything to go by, and the loud sigh as he sat himself down at the small corner booth with his misanthropic teammate, his attempts at romance had fallen just as flat as ever.

On an average occasion, the Spy would have at once commanded him to find somewhere else to park his scrawny ass, but the very fact that he had the nerve to settle there in the first place seemed to indicate that his spirits had been particularly crushed.

Still, that wasn't going to stop a certain backstabber from being a smartass.

"Whatever it was that got you to shut up for this long—do they bottle and sell it, by any chance?" He couldn't help but permit himself a wry smile. His own quiet optimism for the night that lay ahead had left him slightly less venomous in his insults than usual.

The younger RED glanced up at him from beneath his hat. "Really know how to kick a guy when he's down, don'tcha?" he muttered back, still appearing more wounded than angry. "Guess I should expect it from a two-timin' dime-a-dozen—"

"Yes, yes," the Spy waved him off, unamused. "What did she tell you this time? That she had to go walk her cat again tomorrow night?"

A tiny cringe flitted across the Scout's expression before he immediately concealed it, half-heartedly picking at his food. "No."

"What was it then?" Another smirk. "Her excuses are more outlandish every week."

The longest of silences filled the span of a few seconds before the runner managed to mumble a few words in response. "She has a _boyfriend_."

Gradually the mocking grin disappeared from the older man's face. This probably came as a bit of a crushing revelation to the poor bastard, he supposed, and he felt just the smallest bit of sympathy for him in his plight. Just not enough to let it show, of course.

"I would have to call that one out as a bluff, to be honest," he finally responded back. "Considering she has never used that one before, perhaps she guessed you had too much—integrity, you might say—to continue after a woman who was committed."

"Unlike _some_ people." Through a mouthful of food the Scout chuckled at the jab, as well as the rolling of the eyes it elicited in the other. "I almost envy ya, y'know? To be twenty-three and—"

He stopped short, forgetting in his frustration to keep his mouth shut about certain topics. "The asshole Spy on the other team knows it too—I guess, since he never shuts the fuck up about it. Probably all of BLU knows by now, even though I didn't think it was so…well…obvious."

"I probably sound like a total fem over it, huh?" he added, setting his fork down. "I just sorta figured a guy like you could tell anyway, if he could."

Tapping his cigarette out in the ashtray, the Spy shrugged. "It wouldn't be quite so _obvious_ if you weren't quite so _desperate_."

The slightest tinge of red washed into his face. "Get shot down enough and you would be the same, buddy. I mean—that's what I wanted to ask ya, really. Y'gotta have like thousands of girls, right?"

Keeping his expression even, Spy merely tapped a single gloved finger on the table in boredom. "Certainly—and your question is…?"

"Well, duh. How d'ya do it so easily?"

Another frown swam on to the runner's expression as his teammate began to chuckle quietly. "Hey—I ain't kiddin' about it. Unless ya just think I'm a loser and won't—"

"No, not that," the Spy responded quickly. "I only don't know what it is you're asking, exactly. You want a woman to love you, or sleep with you?"

The Scout's face still retained a certain amount of redness, enough that it might match his uniform had he been wearing it. "Is both too much to ask for?"

"One ought to precede the other, yes." A small nod of agreement matched it as he lit up another cigarette. The boy was still rather young, enough so that he had plenty of time to find someone who could tolerate him.

He hadn't been too far off of Scout's age, he mused, when he found himself in that very situation.

_Sometimes it would be an unromantic choice of seclusion, an isolated side street or a spot under a pier on the rocky beach. She would let him slip an arm around her waist, giggling in that youthful way of hers when their lips lightly brushed. There would be shy kisses, passionate kisses, the occasional one in the middle of a playful battle of wits._

_Truly, he was of the opinion that paradise wasn't in some overdramatic kiss in the rain, as fleeting as a black and white film, but rather in those small moments, the everyday ones, ordinary and yet so very exquisite in their own way._

When the time came, he did not doubt that even a young man with a temperament such as Scout's would know what to do.

"Just—one thing, if you'll humor me." The runner glanced up, scraping up the last of his dinner. "I wasn't being cute with you when I told you not to act so desperate. You mustn't mistake desperation for confidence, because women never do."

"And whaddya mean by 'desperate,' huh?" the Scout shot back challengingly, clearly in denial of his previous admission.

The Spy glared at him in deadpan irritation, before coming back at once in a high falsetto impersonation. "'Hey, Miss Pauling, check me out! You could totally fry an egg on my—'"

Instantly regretting his claim, Scout quickly cut in before any of his other teammates could notice. "—whoa whoa, okay. Nevermind."

"All in good time," he concluded with one last enigmatic smirk. "You'll know what I mean eventually. If you're _lucky_, of course."

With that he had excused himself from the very unusual little meeting, heading back out to the van to wait on the others to finish up. Scout shrugged as he headed back to the buffet for seconds, only to roll his eyes in aggravation at the other seven hungry men hogging the whole line.

x x x

Her hands ran over him with that same feminine fondness, a red-fingernailed thumb dragging over his lightly stubbled cheek affectionately. It was only eight o'clock, just late enough for dark to have fallen over the desert, and she always refused to wait when it came to ridding him of the mask he had always been fated to wear.

He supposed some men would see it as a right to hold their wife like this when they came home from a long week, but to him it would forever be a privilege. A privilege he would suffer any pains to reach, even when it seemed to last so brief a time, only to disappear just as quickly with the advent of a new week.

She smiled against his neck when he pressed a hand gently to the small of her back. His angel, his little dark-haired vixen.

But then her sharp voice would bring him back to the present moment in that playful way of hers, the tone that reminded him he didn't have to be perfect to win her over.

"Honey. Ya smell like that awful chicken place again."

* * *

**A/N**: More team interaction!

Question for my readers. I don't typically ask for input, but since I am somewhat doing these on a whim, might I ask if you would like to see more canon or pre-canon? I enjoy writing all parts of their relationship but it doesn't hurt to ask. :)

Until next time,

-FP


	13. Indulging

**Warning: **Uh some sexy I guess?

**.13 ~ Indulging**

x x x

He could sense her staring at him with a distinctly victorious attitude as he assessed his next move, carefully examining the layout of the pieces on the board. His black army had been pitifully backed into a corner and reduced to a mere handful of pawn infantry. Having lost his queen several turns ago, the king rested solemnly behind his dwindled army, as though resigned to his impending defeat.

In that regard, chess seemed to have a sense of truth to it. The queen could do as she pleased, and how powerful she was compared to her male counterpart. Quite fitting indeed.

"Give up yet?"

A smug expression had most certainly found residence on her lovely visage. He shot her an irritated look, feigning that she had broken his intense concentration. Realistically he could not deny that he would be mated within a few turns, the only course of action in the meantime being a pathetic game of cat and mouse between his harried army and her much healthier force.

But admitting defeat stung much too painfully for such a man to do so easily.

"Fair fight's too much for ya to handle, honey?" she taunted quietly, a smirk in her voice. "I got excited when I found this old thing stuffed up in the linen closet yesterday. Figured you'd give me a real hard time of it like ya used to, y'know?"

Again he frowned. In a way she was right. This little game wasn't so different from his normal setting in that the pieces all had their specialties; there were higher value targets than others, and removing those targets from play required strategic placement of one's resources.

And yet he was so accustomed to working alone these days. He fancied himself much better at working in the shadows than commanding a force of his own. Stealth was his specialty, but to a clever eye such as hers he had found himself unable to work his way past enemy lines.

In any case, the clock on the wall read nine o'clock. The day had found him at work from five in the morning until seven at night, as it always did. She presented him with far too tempting a dinner after he'd snuck in through the back door, leaving a rose he had picked up from the grocer on her vanity and making his way oh so casually to their kitchen. Something small made the biggest difference these days as they enjoyed their middle years together.

He hadn't even found the chance to change clothes as of yet. With his own petty comfort in mind, he could hear a hot shower calling him, and perhaps that would be enough to confess defeat just this one time.

Blue eyes glanced up at her over the game board. "Your king, would he possibly be willing to meet for peace negotiations?"

"Not with the likes of _you_," she smiled back, bright red lips pulled into a smug grin. "My little white guys here wouldn't wanna see their king assassinated, after such a _decisive_ battle."

"A very understandable, and most likely accurate suspicion." He nodded sagely, though with an ever-present sense of teasing to his mannerism. She didn't seem quite so surprised when he delicately plucked his king from the board and placed it before her. "Then white prevails, _milady_."

The delighted grin died on her face as she caught him moving to stand up, some glimpse of realization replacing it. "Damn, I almost forgot all about it. I had somethin' special all ready for this evenin' and then I just let it slip my mind…"

He froze, an amused smile answering before him. "Oh, is that so?"

"One second," she muttered quickly, disappearing off into the kitchen. A small racket of plates and cabinet doors followed shortly after, and he couldn't help being curious as to what she had prepared. He had been around the world and back, sustaining himself on a wide variety of cuisine that ranged from heavenly to downright awful, but her cooking had an everlasting charm about it. American food had that way about it, reflecting the nature of the country itself in its lack of desire to impress, though it could nonetheless achieve excellence when such a lovely woman had fawned over it.

She rushed back into the dining room wielding two plates, but rather than seat herself at the table she headed toward the sofa. He caught the hint that she wanted to get comfortable and enjoy the fruits of her labor.

Almost like an excited child he swept up past her and stole one plate from her as he passed, taking a seat on the old beaten-up couch that they had never quite gotten around to replacing. She glared at him in faux irritation and took her place next to him, already digging in to her serving.

Oh, God, it was chocolate cake. Of anything that she had ever devised, _this _recipe in particular was absolutely divine. And he didn't even consider himself much of an indulgent in sugar.

He wasted no time in cleaning off the plate, and she seemed rather surprised—and approving—as she enjoyed her own. "I know it's been a while since I last made it," she explained through a mouthful, and he couldn't help snorting again at this. "Since the kids all cleared out, it seemed like too much for just the two of us to share. But yesterday I was grocery shoppin' and figured what the hell, life's too short not to enjoy somethin' this good once in a while."

"You won't hear any complaints out of me." Still he was eyeing her with amusement as he set his empty dish on the coffee table. She had managed to get a prominent smear of frosting in the corner of her lips, and he wasn't quite sure if she was aware of it. The answer seemed to be 'no' considering that she finished it off with a sigh of nearly orgasmic satisfaction, laying her plate atop his with a clink. She leaned back into the couch in a state of sugar-induced bliss.

"_Nothin' _in the world is as good as that, Rey," she sighed dreamily. "Chocolate can keep me company any day of the week."

One eyebrow twitched playfully upward. "_Almost_ nothing is what you mean, surely."

"Yeah, yeah, of course." The words came out dismissively, still intoxicated.

He rolled his eyes in good humor; he didn't quite like competing with chocolate like this, but he supposed he would have to live with it.

And that chocolate on her lips was still irritating him to no end. Perhaps it was some kind of obsessive-compulsive urge, but he had no doubts that he needed to make it disappear. A quiet noise of surprise escaped her when he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him.

Just as planned, she glanced up at him fondly, brown eyes soft and adoring. He took that as an opportunity to touch his lips to hers in a delicate kiss, a low moan filling the silence. He didn't think she was quite expecting it when he swiped his tongue over the corner of her mouth, stealing the decadent frosting from her face.

She was laughing quietly at him when they broke apart for a moment, still surprised and rather delighted at the playful little stunt. This time she took the initiative, kissing him with much more seriousness as she loosened his tie in a teasing gesture. Once their tongues had collided in an intimate tango, the flavor of chocolate was strongly dominant.

Another heady groan left her as he busied himself with nipping playfully at her neck, mischievous hands wandering down to tease at her chest through the material of her blouse. He intended to show her _exactly_ how much better than chocolate he could be.

* * *

**A/N**: Hey guys, c'mon, holla at me! Support your local het today. I accept anon reviews so feel free, no review is a stupid review.

Best wishes and an early Happy Easter,

-FP


	14. Among Lions

**.14 ~ Among Lions**

x x x

Her reflection stared back at her, full of a sharp and almost dangerous beauty, from the mirror of her powder blue vanity. She had always had a certain degree of vanity for herself, and even in her middle-age she still meticulously maintained her short dark hair and curvaceous figure, still kept a tasteful but unabashedly enticing wardrobe. Much like her longtime friend and husband, she had an unmistakable sense about her that said she was devilishly shrewd without speaking a word.

In her younger days she had undoubtedly spent much more time in front of the mirror before daring to go out anywhere, but she had reached the age now where she no longer felt the need for so much preening. Nonetheless, an attractive woman could satisfy herself with nothing less than a presentable appearance, so she had in fact donned a little black dress for the occasion of going out to dinner.

A slightly devious grin graced her darkly rouged lips as she readjusted the outfit's positioning on her lithe frame. The story behind that dress was rather funny, considering she had picked it up a few weeks ago while shopping for something appropriate to a job interview. With the house empty, the idea of a career appealed to her, but in the course of that endeavor she couldn't quite help picking up something sexy on the side. Perhaps she was just a born rebel after all.

Satisfied with her appearance, she meandered over to seat herself on the bed. "Y'know, I remember when I used to keep _you_ waiting whenever we'd go somewhere," she called over to the closet cheerfully.

The reply was a muffled laugh from the other room. "Hardly a thing in here is mine, in case you haven't noticed. Most of what's mine is…_quite_ out of fashion." As if anticipating her disagreement, he dangled a suit out of the doorway that she recognized as something from at least a decade ago.

She cringed visibly, crossing one leg over the other. "Didn't really get around to unpacking all of _your_ things yet, honey. I thought ya keep most of it at work."

"Mostly, yes, but I was positive I had at least a few—"

He stopped in mid-sentence, his sudden silence disconcerting her. A few moments passed, perhaps as much as thirty seconds. When he appeared in the doorway with something slick and silver hanging in his grip, the woman felt her insides turn cold.

Damn. She was certain she had packed that away, but it must have been sitting in one of the boxes on the closet floor. Such carelessness didn't stand much of a chance at eluding his notice.

"This…" he began impotently, his hesitation to make any sort of accusation very obvious. "It's definitely not mine, Kathryn. What did you need—"

She gave a curt nod, suddenly finding interest in the floor. "No, it _is_ mine. I got that old thing—gosh, years ago, I think."

"For protection?" He turned the weapon over in his hands, examining. "I could've found you a much better one. I have certain—channels available to me, of course."

"Yeah, I picked it up from Uncle Johnny when I was..." She paused, thinking back. "About eight months pregnant with Daniel. You were in London for about a month then, remember?"

A bit of a smile formed on his face as he continued looking it over. The craftsmanship was fairly admirable, the barrel narrow and stylish with an ivory grip. "I shouldn't have left that long, while we were expecting. I always did regret that—should have guessed you might feel uneasy about it."

There remained a certain difficulty about her ability to respond; it wasn't the full truth that she had merely bought it to ward against an unexpected intruder. The fact behind the matter was a darker matter of shame, something she had almost been able to forget over the years. Once the feeling had passed she buried the item in the attic, refusing to look at it again and be reminded of the negative instincts that were associated with it.

Maybe the time had arrived to finally come clean about a certain fear that had once hit her with such unforgettable force.

x x x

_The summer heat had her body beaded with sweat under the thin sheets. Her discomfort had slowly begun to build as the date of her delivery grew closer, fatigue constantly eating away at her strength. She was a new mother, a first-time mother, and for such a busy woman who loved to get into trouble as much as her husband, the restriction on her movement and moods seemed such a heavy burden to bear for so long._

_And yet, as she fell asleep at night she could feel the child inside of her move and shift, reminding her that her pains were for a good cause. She guessed from her swollen size that they would be having a boy, and a rather large one at that. Her older sister, already with two children of her own, had been the one to make that particular observation first._

_She repositioned herself on her side, the awkwardness of her body making it difficult to get particularly comfortable. It may very well be another few weeks before she could expect her dearly beloved to return. With some reluctance he had told her it might take as long as a month to pull off, and the implicit statement seemed to be _if _he managed to pull it off at all._

_In some ways she still could not believe what he had endeavored upon. This would be his foray into the profession of assassination, seguing from an average criminal to a frighteningly lethal one. She had always heard such a thing changed a person in ways that were beyond comprehension. No, surely she could never picture him becoming something so different—a monster, someone unrecognizable._

_But once the seed of doubt was planted, uprooting it proved an impossible task for her mind. In the coming days she found herself feeding the emerging fear with all manner of scenarios and hypotheticals. Some were outlandish, but many of them were perfectly plausible. The two of them had not been parted for this long before, and there he was returning to the region of his own origin, around people he surely related to much better than their current countrymen. It would be so simple for him to just abandon her, to never return, leaving her with—_

_She touched her hand to her stomach absently as the thoughts crept up on her once more, this time sitting under a tree in the park. It was close to where she had grown up, and the two of them had passed through it on many occasions together. He had kissed her under one of these trees before, perhaps the very one she was sitting under._

_Oh, and the women he could certainly encounter there. The refined sort of good name and stock, nothing like herself, willowy little things that every man wanted. Why would he ever return to the responsibility of a child, to the commitment of a marriage? The anxiety brought on by her shifting hormones had overtaken her more pragmatic nature, and every doubt that sprung to mind began to feel as tangible as the last._

_And then the true culmination of her fears had at last manifested, epitomized in one single, horrible supposition._

_Assuming he did return after the deed was done, what exactly stopped him from posing a threat to her? Once the taboo of murder was broken, perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult to turn it upon another target. In a moment of anger, even lust. Or he could simply dispose of her, having found his freedom much more enjoyable than their relationship._

_It wasn't long after that when she wound up at her uncle's pawn shop in search of an article of protection. She had chosen a lovely .357 magnum revolver, sharp and dangerous in a distinctly feminine manner. A clover adorned the handle, something she found terribly ironic._

_There was no harm, she assured herself, in being prepared for the worst possibility._

x x x

A slight redness had flushed into her face, her brown eyes unwilling to meet his. She could practically feel the tension in the air after her recanting of her thoughts that led to the purchase of the weapon. The most painful part about it was, when she finally lifted her eyes to meet his, there was neither anger nor surprise evident in his steely blue gaze. Instead, the aching in his expression held no accusation, only a quiet hurt that he made no effort to hide.

"You thought _I _could—" He stopped short, bewildered. His eyes were still on the gun in his hand. "I would _never_—"

She cut him off with an irritated clearing of the throat, one shapely brow lowering. "_Let me finish._"

x x x

_The silence of the July night was broken by a single rap at the door. She stirred in her bed at the sound, familiar with its meaning. Given the lateness with which he often arrived at their home, he always knocked once before letting himself in, just to dispel any notion of an intruder entering the house._

_She tensed slightly at the sound, casting a glance over to her armoire in which she had stowed the pistol. It was difficult to put a name to the emotion she felt pass through her, somewhere between anxiety and guilt._

_Slipping her legs over the side of the bed, she wandered over to the bedroom doorway. For a few moments she stood, leaning against the door frame expectantly, as she waited for him to meet her there._

_Right on cue he emerged from the entryway, removing his hat in respect as they caught the first sight of each other in many weeks. The sheer excitement of his reaction had been somewhat subverted by the lines of sleeplessness in his face, but any pretenses that might have existed were soon dissolved when he closed the distance between them._

_Resisting the instinct to tense her body, the fortitude of her distrust faltered slightly when his arms were finally around her. His cheek pressed against the top of her head, gloved touch wandering up to play at her long hair fondly, the type of gesture he was wont to do during a moment of poignant intimacy. There was something naked about such small habits, the kind that were inextricably tied up to complicated sentiments._

"_Are you feeling all right?" he murmured into her hair, one hand lingering at her waist. That wall of distrust took another hit as careful fingertips brushed across her stomach. "You're—a bit pale."_

_She shook her head a small fraction. "Ready to have the baby already, if it's not too much to ask."_

_He chuckled softly as she allowed herself to lean more fully into him, some of the weight lifting from her. She had always been quite a bit shorter than him, and it brought her comfort to be held this way as much as she expected that it comforted him to have her in his arms._

_The words were sudden and unapologetic when he let them loose, now with slightly parted lips traveling along her neckline. "I missed you, Kitty," he sighed dramatically. "London's the most depressing city I've ever had the misfortune to stay in—the sky is always dull and the people even more so."_

"_But ya did what you came there to do," she supplied quickly, as a statement rather than a question._

_He fidgeted minutely against her, unsure of how to read her flat tone. "Yes."_

_She did not answer, simply remaining still in his hold. After all of the time spent worrying, she could no longer summon up the feeling of uncertainty toward him anymore. It had been replaced with a strangely placid sensation, as though she felt safer than she ever had in the past. _

_Why, she wondered, had she not considered his deadly nature something favorable? It had always been rather obvious that he was incapable of turning on her, and the thought appeared preposterous now that they were together for the moment. The certainty she felt toward him was one deeply rooted in her simple faith in him, that she was as safe with him as Daniel was in the den of hungry lions stayed by God's hand itself._

_She leaned up to whisper into his ear. "I been thinkin' about some names while you were gone. I _just_ mighta found one I like, too…"_

* * *

**A/N: **Shh, you didn't just read this. You just read some Sunaipa-Supai bonding romance cuddle angst chuu~ kawaii. So review, 'cause you like that. Unless you're telling me you **don't **like Supai-Sunaipa ruv romance desu-ka? Blaspheme!

**Note**: The gun referenced here is based on L'Etranger; as the one in chapter 2 was a reference to the Enforcer. The one here however was also derived from the unique pistol "Lucky" in Fallout New Vegas.

Ambivalent wishes,

-FP


	15. More Than Just A Dream

**A/N**: I'm sorry, everyone following this, for trolling instead of writing more here. I'm just a bitch. But truly thank you for the ever-growing response to this series, it warms my heartstrings.

_From time to time I pinch myself,_  
_Because I think my girl mistakes me for somebody else..._

**.15 ~ More Than Just A Dream**

x x x

With the sun already hidden behind the blackening horizon, RED team had gone their separate ways for the evening as they always did. Some of them were inclined to linger around the barracks, while others would remain in combat-oriented areas of the building to continue the day's work late into the night. Engineer and Medic tended to be the two that fell into the latter category.

The last few hours of the day varied from man to man in this fashion, and being that the disputed territories lay far past the outskirts of town, they would find other ways to amuse themselves. Drinking and card games often consisted of the night's main events, at least for the less academic mercenaries such as the two resident explosives enthusiasts.

One particularly solitary member of the group was not typically inclined to spend much time around his fellow guns for hire at all, but on this unusually dry night—Indian summer, he'd heard them call it—he had grown restless.

But restlessness always meant trouble with him, as she had once observed, and he mused that perhaps that was what had led him to prowl his way over to a little campfire get-together being shared outside of Sniper's van. The pow-wow seemed to consist of Scout, Soldier, and in an unusual show of sociability, Heavy and Medic had joined them as well.

Scout, in his usual immature fashion, seemed to think he was at summer camp. He had even found himself a misshapen hunk of rebar and cement to serve as a log to sit on. Perhaps this was why Soldier was passed out cold a few feet away; whether it was from alcohol or he had simply fallen asleep was anyone's guess. The remaining three men were each nursing a bottle of liquor to endure the 'story' the youngest man was currently telling.

Watching from around the van's corner, this gave their more devious comrade an idea.

Apparently at the climax of his tale, the Scout's always-enthusiastic voice became low and decidedly innocuous as far as inducing terror went. "So this is the scariest part, guys. See, it turns out, the call—"

"—was coming from _inside_ the house, yes?"

The entire group, save for the unconscious member, twitched a bit in surprise as they directed their gaze to the van. In a show of appreciation for drama, their notoriously unpredictable Spy knew his trade well enough to uncloak at precisely the right moment for maximum effect.

Scout had not simply twitched, but rather stumbled backward onto his makeshift log and fell in a heap. His face turned bright red with combined embarrassment and anger as he hauled himself to his feet, none too pleased with the snorting laughter that had erupted from one particular teammate.

"_Totally_ stole my thunder, asshole," he muttered while dusting his shirt off. "That one used to _terrify_ all the freshmen."

The Spy merely shrugged with indifference. "You were telling it all wrong, anyway."

As if sensing an opportune moment to finally escape, Medic spoke up. "As charming as Scout's story-telling abilities are, I'm afraid there's still some paperwork requiring my attention. Archimedes is terribly fussy when I don't feed him on time, as well."

Catching on to the Scout-escaping stunt in progress, a grunt of agreement came from Heavy. "Doctor always need help with his 'paperwork," he added, using air quotes, something he had been fond of using ironically ever since learning their meaning the prior week. "And, I will carry back crazy man."

Once Heavy had hefted Soldier over a massive shoulder (amongst angry sleep-talk about Engineer not putting the teleporter in the correct spot), Medic turned back to their reluctant host in yellow aviators. "Our thanks for ze drinks, friend. And don't forget about your scheduled physical next week. Three months is an awfully long time to be evading it, now, isn't it?"

The marksman scratched the back of his head with a nervous grin. It wasn't exactly a secret to the team that he hated doctors, and no one could quite blame him for being particularly afraid of such an _enthusiastic_ one.

With only a party of three left, Scout seemed to be weighing his odds of being tormented by Spy versus fighting boredom back in his bunk. After the other three men had disappeared from sight in the direction of the base, the latter option won favor.

"Yeah, well," he started up with a clearing of the throat. "You queeros can do whatever the hell you want out here, but _I'm_ gonna go hit the town and get laid."

The remaining duo shared a derisive smirk as the boy raced off after his teammates. A shared understanding existed there that Scout would be doing absolutely anything _but_ that with the rest of his night.

With the silent desert now upon them, Sniper shrugged as he gestured at one of the now-empty lawn chairs sitting around the fire. "Eh, why don't you have a drink then spook? Either that or go give that poor bastard a hand with _his_ problem. A letter of recommendation, maybe?"

The other man did take a seat, as invited, but a barely-perceptible change in his presense seemed to herald some offense. Tossing him a beer, the Australian rolled his eyes.

"Y'know I didn't mean it like _that_, mate," he finally added. "I actually _do _take your word on it, far as you and your lady go. Believe it or not."

"I'm not that hypersensitive, Mundy." He drained part of the bottle without so much as a wince at the taste. He supposed that would surprise the Sniper, but his early life had not been one where he could enjoy the finer things in life. Sub-quality beer did not bother him too much.

"I didn't say ya were, but I would be pretty well angry if I kept gettin' a bunch of mouthin' off from the whole team about _my _woman. Maybe angry enough to punch one of 'em in the face if he got too smart about it."

He accompanied the last sentence with a wry grin. The slight purple mark that remained on his jaw from the prior week had not quite disappeared yet.

"But it's for the best," the Spy finally replied, setting the bottle down on the ground beside him. "Always for the best, and I haven't made it this far because I'm so bothered by a bit of lying."

He drew his cigarette case from his coat, picking one out for himself. It was by polite force of habit that he offered one to his teammate as well.

"I'm still gonna ask you one more question about it, since the cat's already out of the bag, so to speak." He lit up his cigarette, one flick of the wrist tossing the match off to the side. "Exactly how did you end up with a woman like her? 'S'not every girl who'll put up with your type of career, an' everything that goes with it."

Always by pure instinct he would assess the location and situation before daring to speak any word of truth. Fortunately the Sniper did favor parking his van out in the more barren desert, past the base, where any BLU had yet to bother him.

"Near the end of the war, I had afforded passage out of France by way of some inherited income. Truth be told, it was the first time I had left Reims since my birth." He was not looking at his teammate for the moment, smoke curling from his nostrils in an oddly sage fashion. "That, of course, was when I arrived in Boston, and I took up residence with a relative that had previously come to the states. It was not an uncommon arrangement. However…"

His characteristic smirk had worked its way back on to his face. "I wasn't interested in dock work and pencil-pushing. It wasn't long before I ended up stealing full-time to make ends meet. And so one day _she_, my neighbor, inadvertently helped me with a little theft. Women make for the best distraction, always, when it comes to crime."

The Sniper snorted back a laugh at this. "Wish I could say I was surprised by all this, but I'm not."

"Unfortunately, she was smarter than me and saw what I'd done," he went on, smirking. "I expected she might blackmail me for it, but I ended up taking her on as something of a protégé instead. At the time it was my intention to simply use her rather…attractive looks to my own purposes, but that ended up falling by the wayside, because I—"

"—fell in love with her, right?"

Another imperceptible emotion twitched through his expression. "You could put it that way."

_In the moment it took for his lips to brush up to hers, doubt and uncertainty managed to recede for just the briefest amount of time. Each tiny movement of their lips seemed to have its own gravitational field, magnetizing them toward one another again after each inhalation. A tidal wave of fear rose up in him for the shortest instant when her hand came up to touch his cheek, only to realize it was a gesture of endearment rather than revilement. He covered her hand with his own, afraid to end their kiss should it indeed be the last._

_Someone had said, he supposed, that a person's first kiss was something they did not forget. The memorability of it was magnified by the fact that his had been slightly belated, between spending much of his life in the turmoil of war and his own shy nature. The shame of it eventually disappeared when she admitted to him that it had been hers as well, and there remained a certain pride about this fact between the two of them, that they had stolen each other's hearts so utterly, and what could be more fitting for two amateur thieves in the prime of their lives?_

_Oh he had absolutely fallen in love with her, unrelentingly and unabashedly. It seemed such a terribly fitting irony that he should have crossed the ocean to find such a feeling, one that breathed meaning into his life that had slowly been consumed by such an insurmountable feeling of nihilism. The country in shambles that he had left—he had associated himself with it too strongly, as though he were broken and humiliated as well, but then—_

No, he had turned his oars away from France, from his home that no longer could be considered a home.

The sense of betrayal and abandonment that it instilled in him melted away once he had met her. She was vivacious and full of purpose, two opposites of himself, and she reinvigorated his stolen life back into him. The world was no longer the uncharted land that it once was, but that did not stop a man from staking out a new life in a new land. He would be determined to make her happy, to protect her, wherever that path led him to settle.

"Oh, what I wouldn't have given to know you all those years ago," Sniper chuckled. "Spook, unparalleled slayer of men, ladykiller extraordinaire, completely giddy over a woman."

The spook in question allowed some good humor to show in his blue eyes. This man didn't know the half of it, that she was the one holding all the cards from the very start. After all, no man was without an Achilles' heel, and this was especially so with any man worth his weight in gold. Some could go a lifetime keeping their weakness a secret, when it was a petty vice like liquor or sex.

Cupid's arrow, however, did not often miss its mark, and when it flew true there could be no escaping _those_ consequences. He had a manila file full of scandal back at the base to attest to that particular fact.

* * *

**A/N**: Tokyo's all like "Aw yeah more team interaction!"


	16. Muse

**.16 ~ Muse**

x x x

Crisp January air made small white clouds out of her breath as she made her way across town to the usual place of meeting on such a Sunday morning. The sidewalks were somewhat crowded with people that she passed with an impersonal smile here and there when someone's eye was unintentionally caught; churches were still letting out around this time, and families were busily hurrying back to their homes or to attend to other errands.

A hole-in-the-wall café happened to be her own destination, at the end of the street that she had traversed to and from school on a dozen occasions when she had been younger. It wasn't a bad part of town, but certainly not what one would consider upper-crust. The peeling away of paint and jagged cracks in the sidewalk marked the age and wear of the tenements and apartment buildings that lined the road known as Derne Street.

The light snowdrift that covered the pavement crunched under her winter boots as she made for the door with a sense of urgency. She suspected he wouldn't admonish her for being late today, considering that she often took on the responsibility of shepherding her siblings. It seemed odd to her now that she should be separated from the role of older sister by marriage, but it also would be an escape she had long dreamed of. As much as she loved her family, she was no longer a child.

Swinging open the rickety door of the establishment as she stepped inside, none of the regulars so much as glanced up at her. A burly mustached man reading the paper sat in the corner while two elderly women discussed politics in low voices on the opposite side of the room. Her fiancé was at their usual table near the front door, a cup of black coffee in his hand as he hunched over something sitting on the table before him.

He remained silent as she rested herself across from him, dusting some snow from her coat as she shot the waitress a poignant signal for a drink. But within a moment's time he tore his gaze away from whatever it was he was doing to look up at her, a small and characteristically sly smile creeping into his expression.

"What?" she scoffed, touching her cheek. "Do I have something on my face?"

He shook his head, eyes wandering back down to the table. "Your nose is red."

The stoic tone of his voice elicited some indignance. Such indignance as to give her the distinct feeling of more red rushing into her face.

She chose to evade the subject. "So what is that, anyway?" A gesture was made toward the item that held his attention. Of course, she did recognize it for what it was: a sketchbook. But the response would be far more interesting than the obvious fact, and she knew him much too well to expect an explanation for anything outside of the obvious.

"I found it with some of my belongings this morning. Didn't think I had brought it with me. I was positive it had been discarded with the rest of his, well—" He paused. "_Worldly possessions._"

Her brow furrowed. "Who's 'he'?"

"My brother, if you recall." His voice had become a bit off. "Julien. We've spoken about him before, haven't we?"

She felt suddenly abashed, as if she were prying, despite their soon-to-be status as husband and wife. A certain atypical notion of shame seemed to cloud him with regards to anything of his past. On some level she understood this, that even the accent with which he spoke marked him as tied to a country so recently disgraced by war. It was still nonetheless difficult for a street-toughened American woman to fully comprehend the importance of pride to someone of his origin.

"Sure," she replied smoothly. "So what's this got to do with him?"

A smirk flickered back at her, the hint of sentimentality disappearing into pragmatism once more. "Everything, really. When I was a child I took ill often, and my mother had some difficulty in keeping me still for days at a time. I grew bored easily, so one day Julien brought me a book to draw in."

"Mind if I look?"

She didn't wait for affirmation before quickly swiping it out from under him. A tepid leer answered her bold action, but he did not make to stop her. She held it close as the waitress poured her coffee, forgetting about it temporarily as she began to flip through the pages.

Near the beginning were more crude drawings, those of an adolescent, primarily landscape and houses. She guessed he had drawn what he could see from a window at the time it was sketched. Flipping through the pages, the forms became more proportioned and distinct, the shading more precise. There was a certain deliberateness to every mark and scratch, the signs of a keen observer.

He rolled his shoulders awkwardly as she glanced up at him, trying to suppress any sign of self-doubt or caring as to her opinion. She smiled smugly.

"These are actually really good, y'know?" she spoke up, still flipping pages. "I didn't think y'would do this sorta thing. And—oh!"

His eyes widened slightly in alarm at her sudden interjection. It wasn't until he saw what she was looking at that a small amount of discomfort snuck into his solid exterior.

"This one's the best so far. People seem like they'd be kinda hard to draw." She didn't miss the visible relief on his face at her reaction. The sketch was a carefully done depiction of a pretty young woman in summer clothes, perhaps fifteen or sixteen years of age.

"My neighbor. Adrienne Fontaine. She was a terrible brat for as long as I could remember her, but she was…a suitable subject for art, I suppose." He didn't notice the giggle she had to repress, primarily caused by his apparent need to still explain himself. "She had asked that I draw her once, vain as she was. How could I say no?"

"That's a great idea though, if you'd do it," she sighed wistfully, making an intentional effort at baiting him. "I want someone to draw me. Even if I'm plain and dull."

He glared at her, much too sharp for such a thing to still work. Not after he had already sacrificed his pride to beg for her hand in marriage. She had not said yes the first time, after all, and he had since needed to content himself with working through the challenges she would give him.

An eyebrow was raised in perplexity. "I haven't drawn for years. It certainly wouldn't do you justice, anyway."

"I don't care about that." She brooded over a sip of coffee. "I just think it'd be a big deal for me. You can draw me like one of those French girls, right?"

He finally gave a small sigh of resignation. "I could _try_. But I was never particularly good at it in the first place. You'll be disappointed."

"Ya _really _think you can still throw me off by actin' like that?" she asked through a stubborn grin. "Like you can get dramatic and fool me. We're doin' it _today_. No excuses."

Across the table, he was rolling his eyes.

x x x

"You're going to have to stop fidgeting," he scolded her for the third time. "And changing position—you'll ruin it."

She narrowed her eyes a bit, irritated. "Then stop teasin' me like that! It's makin' me all...weird."

"It isn't my fault that you twitch. I never noticed it before." A smug smirk was firmly fixed on his face. "You were the one that _demanded_ this, so just….you know. Relax."

"My hair doesn't even look great today. I didn't have much time before church, and—"

He sighed again. "It looks fine. You're fidgeting again."

"I'm _not!_"

"You know, people who have portraits painted have to sit still for hours. Ten minutes and you can't keep from complaining." He swore quietly as he smudged at the page. "It's still looking well enough. Just a sketch, really—it's almost done. Then you can run a marathon."

She huffed in disagreement, subconsciously brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. When she caught herself doing it she winced, expecting him to admonish her again, but he was working busily at finishing touches.

"Don't—expect to frame it or anything." He tore the page out of the book, tossing it unceremoniously to where she sat on the adjacent chair. His empty apartment seemed to accentuate the tense silence that surrounded them for the brief moment.

"What are you talkin' about?" A self-conscious smile colored her expression as she examined her own image. Her voice became strangely soft, the unusual tone that he could sometimes glean out of her. "This is the sweetest thing anyone coulda done for me."

His own expression became somewhat muddled, the surprise at her response seeping into the previous irritation. "You _like_ it? It's…crude, to say the least."

"But I like it," she countered, still speaking with a gentle insistence. "It's perfect. Maybe not to you, but to me it is."

He smirked a bit, arms folded skeptically. "It happened exactly as I said it would. I said it wouldn't do you justice, and it didn't."

"Y'know, even if you're a real bastard sometimes, I wouldn'ta said I'd be your wife if I didn't think you were a good guy." Her smile became mischievous. "Somewhere in there."

"For you, anyway." He brushed some eraser shavings off of his clothes, ever neurotic. "And I suppose that's what matters the most, isn't it?"

She must have agreed, because soon enough her arms were around him, and all he could find himself concerned with was how very soft her scarf felt against his cheek.

* * *

**A/N**: Sorry that this was a bit of a wait. I've been under some major stress lately. Hopefully this pleases. :)

The idea is a bit unusual, I wanted to bring some more life into Spy though, who is usually portrayed as somewhat two-dimensional. I'm sort of reminded that LA Noire Egoraptor video, actually.

**A big thanks to did-you-reboot on Tumblr for the cover art! Go check out her tumblr, she does some funny shit. She even indulged my Portal/Katamari crossover art request.**

You guys probably caught the cheesy reference too. I just couldn't resist.

Best wishes,

-FP


	17. Electricity

**Notes: **Mildly provocative sexual content. Stronger than in past chapters but more conceptual than concrete.

**.17 ~ Electricity**

x x x

The most fascinating thing about their relationship was perhaps not in the physical or emotional connection that they shared, but in the _mental _bond they had created.

That stood to reason, he supposed. He couldn't have chosen someone that was not his intellectual equal. It would never have lasted, nor endured the trials of distance and danger that they faced as two halves of a lifelong agreement. Something in the sense of pride that they each possessed, their humor, the occasional moment of sharing a thought—therein lay the true chemistry that kept them together over the years.

In some kind of bizarre harmony, the physical attraction manifested itself as an extension of the verbal tango that they shared since the initial moment of their meeting. The nexus where their lives had first intersected in a split second of fate and random coincidence becoming indistinguishable from one another.

He still mused over these subtleties from time to time, the microcosm of their relationship that would have been so easy to overlook or forget. These thoughts would occur to him for the smallest of moments when he would be slipping into bed beside her, finally some respite for the week, and she would put her reading away in a clear signal. A thrill of excitement always passed through him at the sign, like Pavlov's dog responding in kind to the right cue.

There would sometimes be a small thing she would do that set him off; their bodies becoming entwined as the clothes began to come off, she might allow a seemingly innocent giggle or sigh. Tonight it was decidedly a sigh as skin touched skin. He slid her soft nightgown from her body, kissing her shoulder before trailing the affection up to her lips. Their routine echoed the past in so many ways, in much the same fashion that scarred flesh could immediately call to mind the injury.

_The first time had been so drunk and desperate, he could hardly figure out what to do the second time. A month later they were married and sharing the first night under the banner of matrimony. The only problem was that he was sober, and impulse paired with painful desire was the only thing driving him to the destination. Laying close to her side, he ran his fingertips up her arm in a teasing gesture of undoubtable interest._

Their lips were dancing together in the dark, tongues brushing past lips in an eager passion. Softly he transitioned from stroking her short dark locks to running long fingers over the curves of her chest. He had a light touch, but she had always seemed to enjoy it.

_His lips trailed away from hers, gliding over her cheekbone and toward her chin. She was laughing softly as he separated her lingerie from her body, his eagerness and slight anxiety becoming apparent when he briefly froze._

"_Kinda nervous?" she smirked, her eyes catching his as he ceased his affections for a moment. "Not like ya, Rey."_

_A confident chuckle escaped him, his mind taking comfort in the darkness. She couldn't see the faint amount of red in his face that contradicted the heated excitement of his body. He nuzzled her neck gently, her flowery scent faint but enticing._

_Her nails ran along his spine, playing on his weaknesses like a harp. He had his reservations, justifiably so. Their last encounter hadn't been particularly enjoyable for her, and in that it was less so for him. The thought of it was more than a little emasculating._

"_I'm not gradin' ya, stupid," she giggled, the cavalier vocalization breaking the silence. "Here. Just follow me, and the rest of it'll be easy."_

_Soft, slightly-chapped lips fluttered against his again, along the rough stubble that peppered his throat. He groaned unintentionally, perfectly content to succumb to her touch._

The low moan in her throat rose up as he brushed a thumb over her breast, torturously slow and soft. He could always tell that the teasing was working when her legs began to constrict his hips, insistently grinding against the sparse fabric that still remained on their bodies.

He worked his touch masterfully over the swell of her chest, eliciting a gasp here and there as his lips drifted in fond kisses along her jawline.

"_There. That's what I wantcha to do—you've got it—"_

_She said it as more of sigh once she had guided his touch to her pale chest. Instinct led his motions from there, massaging at the tender region that could draw the sounds of pleasure from her. He nipped lightly at her neck as she melted under his fingertips, kissing down to her sternum, around her heaving breasts._

_Another small giggle escaped her as his lips crushed hers again, his touch becoming gentler once more as a sharp noise of discomfort followed the teasing caress of his fingertips. Her nonverbal indications made her heightened sensitivity clear, and he made note of what technique had brought out the best reaction. It gave him a little thrill of egotism that his eager hands were the only thing she allowed to touch her lovely bust, which he'd found his grasp creeping up to on more than one occasion._

His hands wandered away from her chest, roaming down to the smooth slope of her hips. Smiling again, she did the honors of slipping from the thin garment that still separated them from their goal—he quickly followed suit with his own, but still he held back. Before completing their dance he had one last card to play, the one that sealed the deal every time.

Weaving his fingers through her hair as she pressed her body into his, he whispered softly in his mother language to her. She giggled with delight, arching her body back. Something about the mystery it presented to her mind was absolutely irresistible—she had always asked for this, and he had always been happy to oblige.

Their bodies joining roughly together, he was leisurely and gentle in their lovemaking. His coworkers might not have guessed it of him, perhaps taking him to be some wild exotic lover, but his instincts toward her were that of softness. He nibbled gingerly at her lower lip as she met his movements, allowing a small phrase of endearment toward her here and there. Despite her lack of knowledge in the language, the breathy way in which he spoke seemed to communicate something all of its own.

_The sense that he got from her when they had spent themselves was not one of drunken sleepiness, as it had been in their previous engagement. She was his bride now, and the magnetizing way in which she gasped his name—his true name, the one he had discarded for a life of crime—created a sense of proud possessiveness in his chest. She had known that was the one thing that made him love her more and more with every time she spoke it, like some kind of enchantment of lore. It marked him as hers in the oddest of ways._

_Those small matters were the sort of thing that made him positive that he was mated to her in mind as much as he was in body._

* * *

**A/N**: I've always been sort of hesitant to write sexual content because I'm not really into some of the things other people are, and let's be realistic, people rarely write something that they are not interested in to some extent. Look at the masses of dubcon, torture porn, and orgies in the TF2 section and then try to convince me people aren't writing what they are attracted to regardless of canon.

In my own defense, do remember that this is the 1940s these characters were brought up in. I have no interest in taking cookie-cutter erotica and stuffing some characters into it because that's what a bunch of teenagers/highly sexual adults say is the norm. I don't mean to be defensive but I sense badly-written OC porn would be more happily received than well-written but not lewd/steamy sexiness.

Anyhow, review if you would like! I regret nothing. ;)

-FP


	18. Inauspicious Stars

**Notes**: Title of this piece refers to the ill fate of the lovers in "Romeo and Juliet."

Rating has been changed back to T; I don't want to disenfranchise readers over one chapter that isn't even very provocative. I will continue marking chapters as needed.

**.18 ~ Inauspicious Stars**

x x x

"Hey, wha'dya s'pose you'd do if somethin' ever happened to me, Rey?"

The question came rather suddenly as he was relaxing on the sofa one evening, on what was the first night he had spent in their Boston home for several weeks. Flipping through the paper with a vaguely disinterested manner about him, her typically stoic husband flinched ever so slightly as he lowered the pages from his gaze.

"You think I'd let anything happen to you?" he returned smoothly, trying and perhaps failing to return the indifference to his expression.

She shrugged as she finished filling a baby bottle with milk. Their youngest was just over a year old, and here she was with another on the way. "Can't protect me from everythin', honey. That's what I was thinkin' about actually—the labor was a little rough last time, and I thought, what if I died in child birth—"

His face had become noticeably pale, and the pause that accompanied it made her glance up at him. Prompted for an answer, he quickly formed one. "_Don't_ even say that. I couldn't even consider what I would do with myself, much less—"

Smiling to herself, she left the milk on the counter for a moment to sit beside her husband. It was an amusing sight to see her intrepid lover looking nothing short of terrified about the topic of discussion.

"All I want ya to promise is you'll raise our boys, just like I woulda done," she answered briskly, though noticing his expression she immediately added on to that request. "Well, not _just_ like me, maybe, but bring 'em up good. And don't look so damn uncomfortable—you know how much _I_ have to worry that you ain't comin' home?"

He smirked as she smacked him lightly on the arm. "I'm sure the devil has his hands full enough without adding me to the line so soon."

As she chuckled softly, he suddenly spoke up again, surprising her with the startling seriousness in his eyes. "I would promise you on my life, Kitty, that I would care for the children. But what I cannot do is find another mate—had a bit of a feeling you'd ask that next, if you must know."

The woman blushed the faintest shade of pink, her eyes avoiding his for a moment. "I wasn't, actually. I'm a selfish son-of-a-bitch, y'know that better than anyone. You think I'd wanna give my man up?"

She felt her face burn more as he lazily leaned his head on her shoulder. "But...y'really mean that, Rey? I wouldn't wantcha to be lonely or nothin'...I don't s'pose men can go their whole lives without a woman proppin' 'em up, much less without sex."

"Many men, yes. But there are those of us who prefer to be alone," he finished quietly, tugging the pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. "Particularly when a stunning woman has ruined them forever."

Again she nudged him playfully, biting her lip in wry delight when he curled an arm around her waist. The feeling of his fingers dancing over her protruding pregnancy sent a bit of a shiver through her small body.

"You sound just like Ma," she finally spoke up, curling a lock of hair around her finger. "When my father was killed in that accident—she was only twenty-three, with four kids to raise. But she never did take another man, just like they were still married."

Her hair had fallen in her face again, dark brunette tendrils dangling before her eyes. She didn't like talking about her family much, but sometimes the sort of thing came out without her permission. "Lotsa women said she was crazy for it, but I heard the pastor tell her after church once, that it was a very virtuous thing. I guess she really loved my father. I don't remember much of him, but he must've been a great man to make my Ma feel like that."

"There's nothing foolish about being faithful to a spouse, even if it is the memory of one." Blue eyes roamed over her as he said it, almost worshipful in their slow examination. "Most are not cut out for it, but then, most love on such a superficial level, don't you think?"

The soft smile on her face must have melted the usual layer of ice that surrounded his heart on every other occasion. His gaze was so gentle, so fond, compared to the cunning fox that his calm and predatory manner typically resembled. It reminded her of how he could be driving a knife into a man's ribs one moment and tenderly trace his thumb over her lips that very same night.

"I was never a romantic, as I'm sure you know," he sighed, a long drag from his cigarette interrupting him briefly. The scent of smoke had inextricably, unfailingly become a distinct trait of his. "But the phrase isn't an exaggeration. Once you've had the privilege to be with someone who completes you, having that taken away must be unthinkable. Like losing a piece of yourself that you can't live without."

She sensed a warm sensation spreading through her chest, as real as the gentle warmth of sunlight on a summer afternoon. The overwhelming feeling of happiness he could bring her never ceased to amaze. There was an added intimacy to the fact that he would allow himself to share these affectionate words with her, particularly when she had witnessed him deceiving all manner of people.

This was even more so with women, and he seemed to have little difficulty in subduing them to the point where she supposed they would do just about anything he asked; she had even seen this with her own eyes as well, though on that occasion it had seemed to shame him that she had been present.

Such a thing had never irked her, despite the fact that many wives would have been distrusting. But the simple fact was that he was naked in her presence, sheared of pride and falsity. Maybe he too enjoyed the exclusivity of their relationship. It was something he could be completely honest in, free of pretenses and malevolent intent. The gentle side of his dual nature had no difficulty pouring adoration upon her with each kiss, his touch of the sort that seemed to linger long after they were parted.

Stirring slightly, she brushed her lips softly against his as she pulled herself to her feet. The added weight always had a way of making her feel terribly off balance.

"Your other half is gonna go feed your son before she takes a warm bath, if ya don't mind too much." The corner of her mouth pulled into a smile as she caught his expression doing the very same thing. "Tired or not, don't go fallin' asleep before I come to bed."

An eager joy flitted through his calm exterior, but concern quickly rushed in to take over. "I wouldn't want to—make you feel obligated. If you're exhausted, then—"

"Don't be stupid," she grinned back, coy as ever. "In case ya didn't realize, _I _miss that when you're away too. I ain't nice enough to do things just for your sake."

She shook her head in good humor at the sound of his chuckling following her down the hallway. Even if it she really _was _feeling a bit on the faint side, she wouldn't stand for letting her own body prevent her from the long-awaited intimacy.

_"...someone who completes you..."_

The words lingered in her head for the rest of the night, all the way until she fell asleep in the safety of his embrace.

* * *

**A/N**: I was somewhat inspired by recently watching _FFVII: Advent Children _the other night. I'm not a huge fan of the FFVII series because it feels a bit...lacking, to say the least. All of the FF's are victims of the same obnoxious tropes, some more than others. But I always did like the love between Cloud and Aerith, which has been proven to be canon despite many who are rather enthusiastic about shipping Cloud with Tifa and Zack with Aerith. In any case it provided a rare example in media of a love that endures death, and how someone can remain in love long after without "moving on" which is commonly encouraged by Western culture, as though lack of finding a new partner signifies something being wrong with the person.

Anyway, to each their own on the matter! I simply used the idea to explore it with this couple, one of whom faces danger on a regular basis.

Thanks again to the anons for their kind words, and I can assure them more sensual chapters will be added. Just don't expect anything vulgar, because it's just not really my style or interest...

Best wishes,

-FP


	19. No Darkness

**.19 ~ No Darkness**

x x x

The boy of about ten years standing in the half-open doorway of his brother's room, face cast in shadows by the lamp light, was not an experienced agent in the field of espionage. He was not a master of manipulation, nor a pervasively charming ladykiller, world traveler, and conveniently forgettable face. He wasn't even a petty thief.

Rather, at that precise moment in time, he was nothing more than a child afraid of being alone in the dark.

He caught sight of his older brother sitting on the meager cot of a bed. Seventeen years of age, he already had the way of a man about him after so long spent as the man of the house while their merchant father was away. Noticing his younger sibling's hesitant presence, he looked up from the familiar book in his hands.

"Past your bedtime, isn't it, Renart?" he admonished gently, his voice always possessing an odd quality of kindness that others found hard to describe. "You'll be sick again before you know it if you don't sleep well."

Embarrassed, the boy took a few steps forward into the light. "The tree outside of the window—it makes an awful noise." His brother nodded understandingly, though he was likely much too perceptive to believe such a lie. "It keeps me awake."

"There's nothing to be afraid of in the dark," the older boy chuckled, gesturing the boy to come closer. Still reluctant, he complied and sat at his brother's side. "It's a fear you outgrow over time. But it's normal—everyone fears what they can't see."

A treacherous yawn threatened to give him away, but he quickly suppressed it with a distraction. "Julien, why are you always reading that book? Don't you get bored of it?"

Again his brother laughed, glancing down at the book whose cover was inscribed with a golden cross. "I want to be a priest someday, haven't I told you that? I enjoy the comfort that faith gives me. It is a comfort many men try to find in riches and drinking and women, but satisfying the body and satisfying the soul are not the same thing."

"You don't want to have fun?" He picked at a thread on the blanket. "All church does is tell you what you aren't allowed to do."

"Maybe that's true. But that isn't what I want to do. I want to help ease people's suffering." The warmth in his voice had dissipated a bit. "It is a fact of life that we are not all equal in circumstances here on Earth, but if you can teach someone to love himself and God, they have more to value than any king. While the minds of men are easily changed with the wind, God's love is unconditional when you look for it a with a sincere heart."

He ruffled his brother's hair fondly, noticing the sleepy glaze in his dark blue eyes. "If I keep talking like this, you'll fall asleep in no time at all."

The boy began to shake his head, but his older sibling had already stood to take him by the hand. "Come on, we'll walk back to your room together. Mother will be angry with me if she finds out you're not in bed."

x x x

Sometimes, he thought, she chose the oddest of moments to have a serious discussion. One of those times would frequently be after sex, and he made it a goal to render her too blissful and exhausted to properly contemplate a complex topic.

This particular night she had settled her cheek in the crook of his neck, a few strands of hair still glued to her forehead with sweat. Her pregnant stomach made for a slightly awkward position, but that fact seemed to make her all the more wanting of physical closeness to him. As much as he adored his beautiful wife, the feeling of their child growing inside of her sent waves of unbridled terror through him at times.

She interrupted his brooding with a sucker punch of a question. "Rey? I was wonderin'...do you not believe in God?"

For a moment he was silent, followed by the smallest of chuckles. "I don't disbelieve in him so much as I just dislike him personally. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, well, it's just that..." She trailed off for a moment, and he felt her lips playing teasingly at his throat. She managed a short laugh as well, her tiredness clear in the pitch. "I've been thinkin' about how to bring up our kids and all, me bein' a new mother and all. My family was sorta religious, y'know. Ma got that way after she lost my father. Not so much in the goin' to church way—she just got into talkin' to God and tellin' us to be thankful for each other and take care of each other."

She shrugged. "Maybe it's not somethin' people think about until somethin' happens to them that _makes_ 'em think about it."

"Julien was the exact opposite," he muttered quietly, some venom dripping into his voice at the mention of his brother. "He never doubted his beliefs. Wholeheartedly, he believed in God. He always said nothing could hurt you so long as you put your faith in him."

He made a quiet sound of barely-concealed disgust. "For all his belief in God and his 'power,' nothing stopped the man who stabbed him to death one night. And for what? To steal a handful of coins?"

His wife remained silent. The mixture of emotions that affected him when he spoke of his brother was enough to even earn her deference to his stubborn opinion.

"When I was a child, I feared the darkness at night," he sighed, the hesitation in his voice belying his own ambivalence toward the man in question. "My mother would hear nothing of it, but Julien always allowed me to stay with him until I was tired enough to fall asleep. He told me there was nothing to be afraid of in the dark, and yet it was in the dark that he met his end—much too soon, even."

A sympathetic smile in her eyes, she ran her fingers over his chest. The anger in his expression seemed to soften at this. "I'm not really one to talk here, but I don't think God works like that. I can't really see 'em as some great cosmic babysitter, watchin' us all and decidin' who lives and who dies. Good can't exist without evil, right? So if nothin' bad ever happened, we wouldn't even know a good thing when we saw it."

For a few moments he said nothing. When his voice returned to him, it was decidedly more forgiving. "My brother's fault was not his faith in God—it was his faith in man. He thought people were better than they are, kinder, more capable of doing right than wrong. He did something I have never done: put trust in a stranger."

She giggled at this. "You damn liar. Ya trusted _me_, a hell of a lot sooner than y'should've anyway. One kiss and you were like a puppy, rollin' over on his back."

For this he had no reply, and she savored the victory with a lazy kiss to the corner of his lips. "Ya can't hate people for followin' their hearts. Maybe it was in your brother's heart to trust people, even if it was kinda naive. It musta taught _you_ somethin' anyway."

"I can't afford to be naive, as he was." He shook his head slightly. "He spent his time alone, and with that he was perfectly happy. But because I have you..."

His voice halted. He had the most difficult time saying the simplest things, as it were.

"Because y'have me, I think God might've decided you needed someone to look after ya." She smiled gently, her long curly hair brushing against his skin as she tilted her head coyly. "Maybe your brother put in a good word for ya after all."

He didn't reply, but his fingers playing affectionately at the small of her back was enough of an answer for the time being.

x x x

Rummaging through the drawers of the large dresser that she had brought all the way from Boston to New Mexico, she was absolutely _positive _that she had hidden her jewelery box in the bottom drawer before leaving her old home behind. The thought of having left it behind was an alternative she didn't want to imagine—most of it had been gifts from him, each with a memory to them, and all equally irreplaceable.

As she moved aside a pile of linens, she spotted something that piqued her curiosity. Buried among the old odds and ends was a black book with a golden cross emblazoned across the front.

Curiosity briefly overtaking her determination to find her beloved treasure, she snatched the tome out of the drawer. A black strip of fabric had been inserted into the middle of it, appearing to be a bookmark, albeit a crude one. She opened the book to the marked page, her eyes immediately drawn to a passage that had been circled.

_"This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you: God is light; in him there is no darkness at all."_

Very carefully she closed the book again, returning it to its original hiding place. Her own petty concerns had disappeared for a moment, and so she was smiling.

* * *

**A/N**: I'm surprised I updated again given that **no one freaking reviews anymore.** C'mon, you know how much it means to me to hear some kind words? I love knowing that I made someone happy, even if it was just for a moment.

This was a difficult piece to write. The idea for me was to make a character that contrasted Spy, though not quite in the same way as she does. I'm aware religion rubs people the wrong way but the idea here was more about the relationship between Spy and his brother, the religion just happened to be the vehicle to illustrate that relationship. It also speaks to the secular feeling that existed in Europe (and America, too) after WWII because of the atrocities that occurred and the general sentiment of "what kind of God would allow this to happen" sort of thing. The novel L'Etranger is a good example of that sort of thing in some ways.

Also, in the interest of being clear given the context, "Renart" is the French version of the name Reynard, which I have already noted the origin of previously. Spy's actual given name would be the former, but it was a common practice for people to sort of "Americanize" their name for various reasons when they immigrated, some of those being ease of pronunciation for others and also just to fit in so to speak.

The disliking God personally saying is from George Orwell, by the way. ;) Also Tokyo...no, I do not plan on going into more detail on Julien soon. He's served his purpose for now. No more sibling Wangst for Spy, I can't take any more of it, and hell if I'm going to contribute to it.

Best wishes,

-FP


	20. Love and War

**A/N**: You will want to read #2 again prior to this. It was quite a while back and this piece relates directly.

**.20 ~ Love and War**

x x x

Arid summer heat had descended upon the old foundry on that mid-August afternoon, oppressively dry and threatening. The cloud of pollution coughed out by the smokestacks trapped in every bit of sunlight, turning the whole complex into a veritable oven.

The unusually harsh weather combined with the location's unfavorable tendency to make conditions worse had left the two bands of mercenaries in a sedated mood. In the morning there had been a brief but intense skirmish to claim the whole of the area, but once RED had definitively captured the midpoint, the two factions had effectively fallen back to a strategy of simply holding their ground. It was a stalemate for the time being, although somewhat of a deliberate one.

Toward the back end of RED's territory, their Spy had taken to lounging upon one of the stacked crates that dotted the corridor. His current task was to guard the back entrance to their central base. The foundry had always proven to be one of the more expansive disputed locations, and their forces typically ended up spread thin, acting on their own with the exception of perhaps the Medic. Under ordinary circumstances he would have been infiltrating the remaining BLU structures, but the unspoken consensus for now was to avoid more trouble than was necessary.

He rolled his eyes, twirling the knife in his grip idly. Despite his hatred for being told to behave himself, he wasn't particularly thrilled with running around in the heat that was most certainly pushing well into the hundreds. Even in the building's shade he had loosened his tie to hang carelessly around his neck, undoing a few buttons, anything that could release even the slightest amount of discomfort.

On his way back from retrieving ammo, Pyro waved cheerfully at him as he passed. Speaking of discomfort, he chuckled, how in the _hell _did that creature run around so carefree in the smothering heat while wearing that particular ensemble?

It wasn't until said Pyro was far out of earshot, he later realized, that a voice appeared in the secluded corridor's doorway.

"Your colleagues put the muzzle on you today, did they?" His BLU counterpart was leaning against the wall a few feet away, handling his revolver gingerly with a smirk. "And what a well-behaved mutt you are to obey!"

The RED's mouth had formed a thin line of disinterest. "I suppose then that you have nothing better to be doing than throwing around schoolboy insults? Not surprising, really, given your inferiority in the field."

Unfazed by the reply, the other Spy merely shrugged with another smug grin. "Actually, I was considering paying your little minx another visit. She did seem rather fond of me last time, I believe." He paused, watching the subtle but deadly change in disposition that passed through his rival's expression. "Said you were rather unsatisfactory in bed, as it were. I offered to help her with that problem."

Reacting to the provocation would be admitting unbecoming weakness, and both mercenaries realized this. He chose to shrug noncommittally. "And _surely_ you must be irresistible to the ladies, given your willingness to force yourself upon one. At gunpoint, no less? Truly impressive."

The other man's taunting front seemed to slip the slightest amount. "Sometimes a little persuasion can be necessary, as I'm sure you know quite well in our line of work," he replied smoothly, his head inclining forward with the slightest hit of a threat.

"Not of that sort. Unless one considers himself to be a beast rather than a man, of course." He smiled, genuinely pleased with the irritation his enemy was showing.

Before he could fully comprehend the change in circumstances, the BLU had lined up a shot and fired. The bullet buried itself in the wall a few inches from his head, but he had not tarried to pay attention to that kind of detail. In a flash he was on his feet, drawing his own weapon, his dearly beloved's way of aiding him in all that he did, and then—

A searing pain exploded in the back of his head. Metal connected to skull in one powerful blow, sending him to the concrete. In his dazed state he could see BLU's Scout—he could not permit himself to think of the boy in any other way—standing beside his own enemy counterpart. The other Spy was smirking in self-satisfaction, but the younger man showed only a simmering hatred beneath his stoic expression. It was so unlike the kid from Boston to not be taunting, reveling in his victory. This confrontation was of a different nature.

"Guess ya were right after all," he muttered to his teammate. "Didn't think this bastard would be so easy to catch after that little number he did on our guys last time."

The smirk still resided on the BLU Spy's visage. "Oh, he's not quite as elusive as he thinks he is."

"Ya ass is _dead_ if I ever hear anythin' about you botherin' my Ma ever again, you got that pal?" He was ignoring the other BLU entirely, pointing the bat threateningly at the prone RED. "I ain't just talk, and you'll find that out over and over again if ya don't stay _far_ the hell away from her."

This time it was the RED's turn to smirk. "I guess your dear coworker told you to make sure you went well out of earshot to lie in wait, isn't that right?" His gaze wandered over to the other Spy, whose smirk immediately disappeared. "So of course you wouldn't hear him bragging about how he dropped in to see your mother himself not too long ago."

Now the other man looked concerned. He tried to conceal that concern as his teammate cast a sidelong glance over at him. "Ya did _what _now?"

He shifted slightly, bringing confidence into his voice. "I was looking for _him_ again, of course, after finding out of his dealings with her."

"Really, now, that was why?" Some of the dizziness of the blow had subsided, and he was dragging himself into a crouch. "Is that why you used our company-issued technology to appear as _me_? Only way to get yourself in the door and your hands on her, wasn't it?"

The RED noticed the youngest man's grip tighten on his weapon as he turned to face the man beside him, effectively changing the dynamic entirely.

"Of—of course I wouldn't expect her to trust someone she'd never met," the BLU came back angrily, his inferiority in his trade genuinely beginning to come through. Reacting on emotion had gotten the RED in trouble on a number of occasions now, and it turned out to be one of the best weapons to use against someone. "I just had to make sure—"

"No, you didn't expect her to _sleep_ with someone she had never met." Disgust was on the RED's face again. "Because you are a coward and treat women as a coward does. An _envious_ coward, after your little adventure in voyeurism."

The other BLU had not spoken up, carefully weighing the words of his ally and enemy. It was unusual for him to remain calm and not impulsive, but then again, the dearest woman in his life was involved.

"I didn't want _your woman_," he sneered back, anger taking away the last of his better intuition. "I have plenty of my own, so you can go right ahead and fuck her to your heart's content. She moans like a whore, you know—"

The clang of metal hitting bone—the RED cringed slightly, because it was much louder than when he had endured the very same thing. The Scout's face was flushed a bright red with fury as he stood over his own teammate that he had just extinguished. He spit on the body before turning away to face the enemy agent.

Still in a weak crouch from the concussion combined with the heat, the Spy flinched slightly when the boy approached him a few steps. He expected another blow across the head to finish him off, but he was begrudgingly offering a hand to him.

"C'mon, asshole, on your feet," he spoke quietly, not wanting to attract any attention now that he was alone on enemy territory. "I know ya ain't lyin'. Ma was all shaken up not too long ago—wouldn't tell me why."

The older man smiled weakly. "She was all right. _I_ had been following _him_, fortunately."

"_Please_ tell me that nothin'—"

He shook his head. "No. Nothing happened. I saw to that. He wouldn't have been back at work if it had."

The Scout rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "Look. I don't get what's goin' on with you two and I don't wanna know frankly. But I know Ma's been real lonely for a long time—I don't wanna tell her what to do. I _will _kick your ass, however, if ya do anything to hurt her."

"Have a little faith in her, won't you?" he smirked back, shrugging. "_She_ would kick my ass, don't you think?"

A tiny bit of a smile answered that. They both did know it was true, after all.

"Just...this doesn't mean ya can replace my father," he added briskly, eying the battlefield for an opportunity to bolt. "_No one_ can replace him. Ma said he was a hell of a guy."

The feeling in his insides was cold despite the deadly heat.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

**A/N**: First, to respond to Myu. I understand if you didn't enjoy last chapter as much, and that's okay! I am trying to appeal to an audience that has a diversity of preferences. Some people like backstory, some like the romance, some like the sensual stuff, some like fluff...I have to mix it up a bit. And remember, I'm not just trying to develop the relationship between these two. I'm trying to make them into more whole characters, rounded out, so I like to do small pieces on their experiences in life. It's not necessarily all tying into a neat little plot, rather, it's chronicling the two like real-life people. Or at least trying to.

Reviews are always appreciated, be it good or bad.

Best wishes,

-FP


	21. Cherish

**A/N**: Another companion piece to the previous chapter and to #2. This time it's Spy's take on it, since we never quite got that insight. Continuity for the win.

**.21 ~ Cherish  
**

x x x

He would be the first to admit that there were a countless number of undesirable traits to his personality, many of which had been present for most of his life. Antisocial, sarcastic, untrustworthy, arrogant—and on occasion, short-tempered.

But the previous week, he had discovered in his iron heart an overwhelming animal instinct that he had previously thought himself above.

_It didn't surprise him when he realized what his enemy's destination was. After the last paparazzi-style visit, he supposed it stood to reason that he would be spying upon them again if he got the opportunity. What the RED wasn't expecting, however, was that his rival would go after his girl like this._

_He had to suppress a chuckle as he watched the other man take on his image with a little flick of the disguise kit that they both utilized. Safely cloaked, he followed his counterpart into the house that he and his mate shared. She had thrown her arms around the doppelganger, understandably taken in by his highly advanced means of trickery._

"How's it that ya always beat me to the bed?" she chided warmly, appearing in the doorway of their small bedroom. Her bathrobe was pulled tight around her small frame, dark bangs in loose curls from the heat of the shower.

He chuckled as she hung up the bathrobe on a hook behind the door, revealing the soft sleepwear that hid beneath. It managed to hug her curves in all the right places, and he still couldn't help but stare despite his intimate familiarity with her.

Shooing their old black cat from her resting place on the pillow, she slid in beside him with a sly, knowing expression. "Oh, well I know why. Men ain't _that_ hard to figure out."

Her husband smirked again, one arm already curled around her waist. "You think I'm that transparent?"

She leaned her head into his chest, sighing gratefully. "When it comes to that? No doubt about it."

_The only reason he hadn't put a bullet in the BLU's head outright was because he had a difficult choice to make at the moment. Killing him was likely out of the question, or at least, should be avoided if possible given their shared employer. Doing so could provoke retaliation, or worse yet, call even more unwanted attention to her as a person of value to him. He willed himself to keep his head straight despite his instincts commanding him to end the confrontation immediately._

_From the doorway he calmly weighed his options. His temper flared as he watched his rival brush his cheek affectionately against his wife's neck before pulling away to engage eye contact. The man seemed very hesitant to be sexually forward, to make a misstep and have her question his unusual behavior. A wise decision on his part, the RED speculated. Had he the nerve to put his treacherous lips on _his_ woman, it would have been to hell with any pretenses of avoiding a fatality._

_Perhaps the other Spy was too arrogant after all to romance her while masquerading as his enemy, because it had not taken him long to forsake the disguise. It seemed apparent that he had never dealt with a woman who didn't want him before, because his touch remained rather chastely upon her hips rather than making any advances._

_And he sure as hell wasn't going to wait around until he did._

He himself was fairly familiar with the need to disengage himself from the advances of others. In his line of work he would, here and there, have some drunken or coquettish woman at a party drape her arms around him. With a little bit of talk it wasn't too difficult to quickly dispatch of them without causing any undue offense, perhaps with a kiss on the hand and a promise of a raincheck, but there was no doubting it took more effort to maintain fidelity than it did to collect women like seashells on the beach.

But, he mused as his wife giggled from a few inches above, scrambling her way mischievously into a straddle atop him, it was so utterly worth the trouble. Her breathing was calm and gentle as she rested her head on his shoulder, his arms around her like an impenetrable wall. He nipped fondly at her neck, tongue trailing playfully along the flushed column of her throat. A kiss here and there to her warm skin, he reveled at the fact that his rival had been succinctly denied the alluring taste of her flesh that he was after. She was under his protection, and anyone who dared to harm her would find that out in no uncertain terms.

_Yes, he was very much protective. That much was clear, as the rogue BLU had ended up in a crumpled pile on the floor with a concussion that he would not soon forget. Traitor though he was to most causes, there was no gray area when it came to guarding and protecting his girl._

_That was when he caught sight of her still leaning against the wall, frightened and traumatized. He sensed that she must have known something was off when she let the other man in the door, something in his mannerism that didn't reflect the person she had shared several decades with._

_So he took her in his arms, sweeping her off her feet as she often joked about him doing whenever something ailed her. She was small and light, almost delicate despite the fierce and tough nature that was inside that body of hers. He nuzzled gently at the base of her neck as a thumb brushed away the tears that were already threatening to fall._

It was nice to finally be making love again without the threat of being watched looming over them. This time the windows were shut, the doors locked, the house on lockdown in every sense of the word. Her ferocity of spirit seemed to be back as well, because she had shown no hesitation in assuming a position atop him to sate their own desire for intimacy. She must have had a terrible weakness for him as well, judging from the territorial kisses she dragged along his mouth, across his jawline, like a predator to its kill.

He certainly wasn't complaining about _that_.

And despite the fear that last week's encounter had instilled in her, something much better had come of it. She knew now that he wasn't just talk; he absolutely _was _there to protect her. Even if he seemed to switch off his killer instinct in her presence, it was still very much there, if below the surface.

He had always considered it a load of nonsense that sometimes good things came out of the bad, but he supposed he would have to thank his BLU counterpart the next chance he got. Without his foolish mistake, he might not have known just how much it meant to her to know that he could keep her safe.

It was yet another thing he refused to let her down in.

* * *

**A/N**: The exchange is you get a double update this week, but they are not extra-long. Take it or leave it. :D

Thanks again to reviewers, anons especially since I can't reply to you! :)

-FP


	22. You Are The Moon

**Warning: **Lime content. For most of you, this is a good thing I reckon.

**.22 ~ You Are The Moon**

x x x

_"—__an' I found this sweet little spot when I was out walkin' the dog yesterday afternoon. It's a bit of a walk, yeah, but it's _incredible_. I was thinkin' we should—"_

So _that_ was how he had ended up here, doing _this_. Just like always her wish was his command, but all things considered...

This wasn't bad at all.

Her ideas truly did turn out to be the best ones, and this time was no exception. The small natural hot springs she had stumbled upon was absolutely divine. His aching abused body loved every moment of the warmth that caressed it, the slightly arthritic spots subdued by it for once.

The leadup was far from unsatisfactory as well.

Once they had scrambled up the small hill to the pile of rocks that surrounded the water, she already had a devious look on her face. He smirked back at her when she leaned her body into his, already popping buttons and hurriedly removing his tie. It was only when she reached for the mask that he gently caught her hand; even in the moonlit wilderness there were no assurances of solitude.

Still, she didn't mind so much about that as his touch ran up her thigh, softly stroking the smooth skin of her outer thigh, up to her hip. He was never very direct about seducing her, and he had become quite aware that she liked the roundabout path they often took when it came to intimacy. It didn't take long before her light summer dress appeared to be sliding away from her body, pooling around her feet like a shrine once it finally fell.

He couldn't remember if he had ever seen her like that before, the natural moonlight bathing her form in an otherworldly glow. She looked positively radiant, Venus in a little blue dress. Had he not already removed it, of course.

She seemed completely at ease as they held each other in silence, the occasional bark and howl of coyotes far off in the distant desert. A sense of peace filled him as well as he ran his fingers over the light curves of her back. It satisfied him that she could be feeling calm again in his presence, after they had so recently been caught in the act. Not to mention the subsequent visit to her by his most hated enemy.

The youthful giggle that escaped her made him smile—he had taken to playing his lips along her neck again, an area that happened to be rather sensitive and ticklish for her. Very gently he nibbled and preened at her throat, alternating between teasing the skin between his teeth and laving his tongue gingerly over it as her fingertips pressed into the nape of his neck.

She awoke some base, primal drive in him, not too different from the coyotes that they shared the night with. He had seen it clearly when his BLU counterpart had boldly put his arms around her the previous week, the sharp animal instinct to run off threats to his mate, to defeat him before he could touch her in some way that was not so innocent—the distinctly intimate kind reserved exclusively for himself. It was for much the same reason that he would cleverly reject the women who would try to sneak their way into his arms, placing their head on his neck or shoulder like they were well acquainted indeed.

Yes, their loyalty to each other was inextricably tied up to the elusiveness that pervaded his entire life; every little kiss and caress felt so much better, so clean and resolved, when they had only ever shared them with each other. Perhaps being young lovers had meant that they left a permanent imprint on one another, or perhaps their relationship could simply be summed up in that cliche-but-oh-so-true phrase of _meant to be_.

And despite considering himself a creature of the highest order of intelligence, he could not describe the force that controlled him when it came to her. His heartbeat quickened at once when she moaned quietly into the night, reacting to the soft sucking at the side of her throat that left a loving mark. He kissed over the spot before letting her rest her head on his shoulder.

"Toldya this would be fun," she whispered almost breathlessly, already sounding enticed.

He nodded in answer, not quite willing to let her see the effect upon him. Their bare bodies touching beneath the warm water, the crisp summer air in the desert night...

The words that came from his lips, however, did not quite match the sense of joy that he was feeling.

"I'm sorry, Kathryn."

Her soft eyes glanced up at him, confused. "Huh? For what?"

"All of it, really." He sighed, brushing a thumb over her lips affectionately. "I shouldn't have taken this job so soon—_you_ shouldn't be alone so much. Certainly not after raising the boys alone..."

The sentence trailed off, his voice belying some old regret. As much as he knew that she adored his faithfulness in the face of globetrotting, he had always thought she would have been in the right to take a man that didn't leave her stuck with a litter of children to care for. And yet she wore their wedding band as proudly as the day he had put it on her finger.

"Why d'ya think I wanted kids?" she laughed back, a roll of the eyes completely dispelling his worries. "Don'tcha think they _reminded_ me of a certain someone?"

He didn't often smile, but the one on his lips was nothing short of bittersweet.

Her own expression remained sweetly sincere. "Ya get all upset about this every so often. Y'know I don't mind it. I love our boys, but I think the time is comin' up soon that y'should face your grown sons. I think I did most of the work for ya, as far as makin' sure they wouldn't hate ya too much."

Chuckling softly, he did not speak a word. He had yet to tell her about their youngest beating his ally upside the head in defense of the both of them mere days ago. Attacking their own teammates over her seemed to run parallel for the RED and his mouthiest son, although he knew their Sniper to be a far better man than BLU's Spy could ever hope to be.

As the conversation died off into relaxed cuddling, he allowed her to make the decision as to where the night would lead them—and it certainly was in the direction he had been hoping for. She brushed her lips slowly against his, testing and exploring despite their long history together. A sigh left her as he ran his tongue over her lips, parting them gradually until she allowed him to claim her in full.

The experience certainly deviated from their usual routine. He led her gently out of the warmth of the water, onto the flat rock face beside them. Their bodies moved smoothly together with the residual moisture, hers glistening beautifully beneath his as he nuzzled her neck with hungry anticipation. Her breathing frenzied his powerful instinctive drive, the one that in every other case was put toward ruthless cruelty and murder. Her hips came up to his, insistent and demanding, until he had eased them together with a surprising tenderness in the face of their desire.

He couldn't help but be lost in her whenever they shared this moment together. The ecstatic cadence of her breath, her soft sounds of pleasure, his fingers in her hair and his face buried in her neck like a desperate child, the occasional French swear that he allowed himself. They were perfect for now, existing in a private world of heightened senses as he slowly brought her to the highest point, all the way up until she was spent and heaving under his own satisfied body.

But even in the midst of her pleasantly exhausted panting, he made out her enthusiastic demand.

"We _gotta_ do this again sometime."

* * *

**A/N: **I keep writing every few days lately. It's like finally I have the damn time to do it!

Also, hope you are enjoying the recent binge of ficlets taking place during the canon events of TF2. :3

Sorry for the weird chapter title. It's a song, albeit a very obscure one.

-FP


	23. Favorite

**.23 ~ Favorite**

x x x

There were many details of a person that one could find themselves drawn to. He had accepted the facts of visual attraction long ago, in any case, being that he was only a man after all and subject to those sorts of tendencies. But one favored part of his significant other, he had to admit, was her hair.

Yes, he knew it was a rather trifling and odd aspect to pick given the perception many had of him. And despite being fully appreciative of the particularly _gratifying_ benefits that came with the female companionship he kept, his younger self had held on his natural infatuation with the dark locks that framed her face; and had in fact, at one time, run past her shoulders in lovely curls.

Women's hair had always fascinated him to a certain extent. He could distinctly remember the few occasions he had seen depictions of it in art, when he had been brought into the city as a child. The artists of old seemed to also appreciate this, as goddesses and maidens always seemed to be portrayed with lush tresses tumbling down their back.

In the prime of his young adulthood, her hair had been especially appealing to him when he first found himself taking an interest in her. A deep brown, almost black, with a natural wave to it. He would most often see her at the end of the day, returning to her apartment a few doors down from his own. It would often be disheveled and out of order by then, depending on the day's humidity.

Still, it didn't matter so much how it looked at any given moment. He just wanted to run his fingers through it, and the fact that he never would bothered him to no end.

That, however, turned out to be untrue. Once he had stolen the opportunity to kiss her, they were no longer really just partners in crime with a dash of begrudging friendship mixed in. The more receptive she became, the more he felt confident in wheedling out little bits of physical affection that he hadn't ever really pictured himself being inclined toward.

So the time came that he was allowed to indulge his fleeting fantasies of touching her pretty hair, feeling its softness between his fingers in a way that obscured his better sense of judgement with uncharacteristically sweet whimsy. She complained the first few times that he was going to mess it up, that she'd spent the morning getting it to behave itself, but eventually she resigned herself to letting him toy with it when the moment got a bit affectionate or heated.

Even in their more intimate times together he still found himself drawn to that aspect of her beauty. He would bury his face in it after they were through, enjoying her lingering presence through the familiar scent. It seemed almost second nature to comb his fingers through those soft curls when they were close together, as if that alone made up for any residual coldness he might have had about him from his typical way of business.

When she eventually cut it short, after their fifth and final child had been born, he did find himself a bit broken-hearted. But he knew better than anyone else that he had changed too, since they had first met. The balaclava he wore was a testament to that, something that had almost become part of his skin since he had first put it on. More than anything else, changes represented sacrifices. And he understood quite well that they had made plenty of sacrifices to maintain the unusual lifestyle that they lived.

That didn't stop him from enjoying the sweet soft texture of her hair; whether it was long or short, it outlined her face perfectly.

But then again, maybe he wasn't exactly an unbiased judge on the topic.

* * *

**A/N**: Just a dicking-around drabble done on a whim. Picked a topic and wrote on it. Not really a 'plot advancing' type of addition to this collection but I figured you guys might like to see it anyway.

Also, this canon assumes that the two Scouts' families are not identical. Since RED team is most often featured, I tend to see RED Scout as having the larger family, although I make them both the youngest of an all-male family to keep with canon.

-FP


	24. Windows

**.24 ~ Windows**

x x x

It would be an understatement to say his chosen profession was very different from that of most men. The reason he had tended toward it, truth be told, was that he excelled in two particular things: paying close attention, and fading into the background when the situation called for it. With those two skills and a definite indifference toward his victims, he had never had much difficulty in the field.

Of course, that didn't mean he hadn't learned quite a bit since his youngest days as a criminal. As a matter of fact, reading people had long ago become second nature by the time he took up employment with Redmond Mann's company. More important than anything else was the ability to know how to conceal the evidence of lies that one's nonverbals were inclined to give away, and to recognize those same signs in others.

Maybe that was why he had become so familiar with paying close attention to the eyes. Deceit always seemed to leak out the most from a person's eyes, the movement, the direction, even the dilation of the pupils. He had an odd fascination with eyes, and he had even become rather familiar and amused by the way the light left them whenever he carried out his gruesome executions. He associated eyes with victory, domination, and predatory instinct.

But then, there were _her_ eyes.

x x x

It was at a conversation over drinks, one evening, that he had first suspected he might be falling for her in a way that was not a simple physical infatuation.

A cup of tea rested in her hand; they were speaking in hushed voices despite the loudness of the small coffee shop on a Saturday night.

"Didya see how well we did today?" she smiled, twirling a lock of hair around her finger anxiously. To her it was a wonderful game, he sighed, despite the fact that it was his very livelihood at this point. "That guy had no _idea _we were workin' together the whole time. I didn't think ya would be right about how easy this whole thing is..."

Easy since he had taken her under his wing, that is. He wasn't wrong about her looks being an invaluable asset. All she had to do was distract a man for a moment, something as small as a greeting or feigning that she had dropped something. Most of their work together consisted of simply having her draw attention to herself, and his abilities carried them the rest of the way.

What bothered him, he groaned inwardly, was the possessive lurch in his gut that seemed to show itself every time some man was staring her up and down these days.

Of course he had found her attractive to begin with. Of course he would have gladly taken more from her than a partners-in-crime relationship. If that fact was based exclusively on her looks, then his logic questioned why her voice alone could ignite such a feeling of weakness in him.

She was accustomed to his frequent silences, his periodic exhaustion with speaking a language he was still familiarizing himself with. But he must have let his troubled expression slip, because she was looking directly at him over the table.

"Hey, y'okay?" she murmured more quietly, almost in a motherly tone. "Sorry if I'm bein' a pain again. Ma always said I talk everyone's ear off."

He glanced up at her, shaking his head curtly. A peculiar thing happened then, because instead of quickly redirecting his gaze as he was often inclined to do, he held her eyes for the briefest of instances.

Brown. A light amber brown, almost as though it were tinged with a bit of green. He had never let himself catch her eyes long enough to really notice the unusual color, but at length, they were absolutely captivating.

Captivating and dangerous. She was going to capture him with those eyes, and the horrible, wonderful realization was that he knew he would gladly let her do so.

x x x

Her eyes didn't just capture him. Once they had him, he couldn't bring himself to ever leave.

Thoughts of all kinds drifted through his head as he laid next to her, with her dozing off in the curve of his neck. He was somewhat in awe that she had let him have her before they were married for true, because that fact in itself seemed to mean she trusted that he would remain with her all the same.

The evidence of that truth drove through him like a stake; her wonderfully bare body was still contoured against his own, the scent of her perfume on his skin. She flew in the face of his proud indifference to others, his invulnerability to common guilt. Plenty of men could take from a woman and be gone the next morning without a second thought, but he...

She glanced up at him, all warm brown eyes and long lashes once more. In fondness he had awoken her, his careful fingertips running up from her hip, brushing over the curve of her breast, finally to rest between her shoulder blades. It was reverent and worshipful, a sensual gesture despite the awkwardness of this first encounter.

He couldn't help but smirk at the still slightly buzzed look she held on him. The alcohol had left them both in a sort of dreamy state, but he had already committed the finest details to memory.

x x x

She was an ocean apart that night, and the conditions were right for an attempted coup of his better judgement.

It took the form of a young woman who had looped her arm through his as he scanned the banquet's crowd for a particular face that he was due to blow away when such a moment could present itself.

"Expecting a certain someone?" she asked blithely, a few dark locks hanging in her face. She spoke in his own language, something he had felt some relief at since returning to Paris for this little errand.

He made no attempt to brush her off for the moment. Against his practical wits he allowed himself to look her over briefly, her bust spilling out from her dress in a rather risque fashion that wasn't too uncommon in the city. Honestly, painfully, he acknowledged the fact that he was lonely and appreciated the attention.

"Actually, I am. But they're running late, it seems." Now she was leaning her head against his shoulder. "Suffice to say they've kept me waiting for quite a while now."

"Might I keep you company, then, while you wait?" The woman giggled obnoxiously, and it struck a reminder that she was no substitute for his Kathryn—who presently was left alone with his secondborn on the way.

For most it would be so easy to just put it all out of mind, and yet it was the one thing he found himself fundamentally unwilling to do. He was lonely, but not for the company of just anyone.

He allowed himself another quick glance at the woman as her eyes followed a wealthy attendee. Already looking for another quarry while she attempted to ensnare one. When she quickly fixed her seductress gaze on him again, the vacuum in her eyes became more pronounced. Her green eyes were jaded and greedy, something he had already seen in many eyes before. They had drawn in foolish men before, he supposed, but they were of a different stripe than him.

_Her _eyes, on the other hand, were irresistible. They knew his ways and his faults and his adoration. They pinned him down sometimes and let him win other times. He would move mountains just to see the happiness those brown eyes could show.

His own quarry appeared around a corner, giving him the opportune moment to break this off. He coolly shrugged out of her grip, handing his wine glass to her. "Hold this for a moment, won't you?"

He rolled his eyes as he caught her coy request for him to hurry back before vanishing into the crowd. He had every intention to hurry back, but it would be to someone else.

x x x

She had mentioned to him on more than one occasion that their youngest son had his eyes. The other boys had inherited her own, with varying shades of brown, or in Daniel's case, green. But it was Ricky, she told him proudly, that had grown to possess a steely gray-blue gaze that matched his exactly.

It occurred to him at times when they would skirmish on the battlefield. He insisted in his own mind that he wasn't pulling any punches, but on those few opportunities that he had come up on the boy standing stock-still—perhaps hesitating to dart before a sentry—he had let the blade cut through air. Sometimes when he let a shot in the Scout's direction, it conveniently passed mere centimeters from his head. Even the Scout himself would seem surprised, because it was well known among the teams that his shot rivaled that of the Snipers.

Such things irked him. His wife had gotten inside his head once again, extending his ridiculously unwavering fealty to her onto their son. It was borderline humiliating to someone in his position.

And though his eyes were blue rather than brown, the Scout had that same way of looking at him as though he already knew everything about him. Perhaps it was just his cockiness in general that made such a thing possible, but they had passed each other on neutral territory before, and the younger man had always seemed to be scrutinizing him as though he were familiar.

He would have never allowed her to keep that photograph of him in her bedroom had he known it could potentially compromise him one day. But who ever expected to be confronting their own son on the field of battle?

Beside him their Sniper chuckled as the two of them watched BLU's Scout race across the battlements with an arrogant whoop. His pride lacked the polish and refinement, but the similarity could not be denied.

x x x

Windows to the soul might have been an overused and cheaply poetic way of putting it, but he could not doubt the importance of them to detecting a person's thoughts and trickeries. He had become unmatched in fortifying his own against intrusion, but she brushed past his defenses that criminal masterminds had been unable to outwit.

The special place she held as his lover had much to do with that. When she had him in the dark, locked in passion, he was gladly at her mercy. But even when the morning came she still maintained control, one glance of those honey-colored eyes insisting that he had the time to stay one more hour. She could stare into his own blue eyes and know that he wouldn't deny her request.

Years he had spent trying to convince himself that he _allowed _her to have that power over him. And maybe that would have sufficed if he hadn't already proven his own ability to resist temptation and foolish impulse over the course of his career.

She would simply have to be the exception to the rule. A beautiful exception that happened to be all his own.

* * *

**A/N: **So I perused some fanart before writing this, and noticed that a lot of people portray ScoutMa as having blue eyes. Well, I was in the process of going back through here to correct that when I realized...I don't care. Valve has already said they basically put breasts on Scout to make her model, so I expanded on making her a bit more individualized rather than "female adult Scout" and all. Plus, ALL of the characters have blue eyes. Most people with dark hair have brown eyes, so it's just gonna have to stay that way.

Aside from that, hope you are all enjoying my extra writing opportunity time. Glad to be of service. :) **Psst, don't forget, a moment of your thoughts is always appreciated in a review!**

-FP


	25. Tease

**Warnings: **Alludes to sex in a not-so-discreet manner. Just some short sexiness per the request of a certain someone. Was going to step it up and make this a separate M fic but it turns out I'm not really capable of writing something obscene to warrant that.

**.25 ~ Tease**

x x x

"Just a few more weeks. No more than a month, I'm sure—"

Her sigh from the other end of the line made his heart sink the slightest amount. It was a funny thing, that; no matter how well-trained he was in abstaining from emotional responses, she could still provoke an almost immediate feeling of guilt in him. It went back years and years, perhaps to the very beginning of their marriage.

His loyalties were few and far between, he was well aware, but the one he shared with her was an iron chain of his own making.

"Y'know, I moved all the way out to the middle of the desert for ya. Least you could do is visit me sometimes, now that I'm here."

The line fell silent for a moment. He was loosening his tie a bit, already looking forward to changing out of his work attire. While not exactly five-star accommodations, the hotel he had been staying at for the past month—since the beginning of his employment with Redmond Mann's company—was sufficient to his needs. The real kick in the teeth lay in the fact that his lover was still a good hour's drive away.

He hummed apologetically into the receiver, pressing it against his shoulder as he started to unbutton his undershirt. "You _know _it's not of my own choosing. I have to wait it out just a while longer—become better acquainted with both my allies _and _enemies. I don't want anyone knowing—"

"I _do_ get it, honey." Her voice had become softer, less of the teasing indignance in it. "The same reason you kept us in Boston for all those years. But I guess I sort of feel cheated, havin' you so close now...and with the kids all grown up, it's just..."

"Lonely."

He finished it for her, with a slight smirking that could be heard even through the poor phone connection. "Now you know how _I've_ felt all this time, hm? Not that I didn't choose it, of course..."

"Nah," she chuckled. "It chose you. I know, 'cause I was there to see it."

The silence returned again, and this time he felt hesitant to break it. Hesitation, like guilt, was another sensation that only seemed to afflict him when she was involved.

"I chose _you_, too. And if I had it to do again, I would every time."

Her laugh this time was more of a girlish giggle. "You're just tryin' to change the subject, hun. I'm not stupid." She paused, contemplating. "I mean, couldn't you come see me next week? Just for a minute?"

He winced slightly. They were like schoolchildren planning a forbidden meeting. And so long as he let her keep chipping away at him, he was likely to make a decision based more on want than logic and caution.

Redirecting her was something he happened to be confident in. He knew what her weakness would be right now, and he planned to exploit it as he would anyone else's.

"So, what would you happen to be wearing right now? It _is _rather late."

Another snicker came in through the receiver, but this time it was more half-hearted. "Nothin' special, if that was what you were hoping. Just that little pink dressy nightgown thing, y'know the one. With the flowers on it."

Oh, he knew the one all right. Some kind of satin—he'd first seen it on her shortly before they made the move to New Mexico. It hung loosely on her, flowing, not of the form-fitting lingerie sort, which were meant more for a man's enjoyment than the woman wearing it.

He absolutely adored it.

"Do you know what I'd do, if I were there with you?" His voice was slightly mischievous, egging her on to comply with his indulgence of a little fantasy. "I'd slide the strap down your arm—slowly, of course. And you'd be complaining that my shirt has far too many buttons, so I would keep you quiet with an _infinitely excellent_ kiss."

Some combination of a contented hum and a sarcastic laugh escaped her. He knew from her tone of voice that she had a smile on her face.

"Then I would move down your neck, to that spot that makes you giggle like a schoolgirl. By now, naturally, you would be naked between those ugly flowerprint sheets you insisted on buying. So I'd run my fingers through your hair, over your shoulders..."

He paused. It had started out as a way to tease her, but now he was beginning to feel frustrated and hot under the collar. His imagination took off in brief flashes of memory; her body warm and welcoming as he gingerly held her beneath him, nibbles and kisses at her neck bringing forth low whimpers or satisfied sighs. Or her hips straddling his, if she chose to assume control—nails raking along his back, silently guiding him into the right angles to tear gasps from her lips.

And those lips would press tenderly, affectionately against his own. Her gentle touch was so incredibly sweet and fulfilling when the majority of his life involved swift and silent brutality.

They were vivid thoughts, vivid recollections of intense sensation. The sort that could make him lose his cool composure. But he wasn't going to waver and let _her _know how much he wanted her right now. He continued without missing a beat.

"—over those lovely breasts, clear to your hips. So you would press yourself hard against me, _begging _me to make love to you until you moaned my name. And I'd be happy to oblige—assuming you asked nicely, that is."

It was here that she interjected, taking the story in her own direction.

"And afterward you'd lay there with me, playin' with my hair like ya always have ever since the very first time. And ask what perfume I was wearin', even though it was the same thing I have for years. After all that tough guy stuff you'd be just like a kitten. Just for me."

He couldn't help but chuckle. The sound of her reveling in his own weakness for her had always been oddly intimate. In spite of his arrogance he allowed her that victory, that she might return the favor by putting her trust in a man with a reputation for betrayal.

"Just for you," he finally agreed, the seriousness to his voice no accident.

She gave another sigh, this time more heady than irritated. "Hurry up and get comfortable over there, honey. I wanna see ya over _here_ once in a while, if that ain't so much to ask.

He shook his head, something she couldn't see. His own paranoia and protectiveness would prevail for the day.

"All in good time, _ma minette_."

The sound of her tired voice came back after a brief moment of quiet. "Your kitten's goin' to bed now, dear. Y'gonna have to get over here if ya wanna make that little bedtime story come true."

In the darkness of his lonely hotel room, he smiled. Good time would never be good enough for him.

* * *

**A/N**: I miss reviews. Not for the praise really, but I just like hearing what you guys think. And, I'll admit it makes my ass write more faster. ;)

-FP


	26. Art of Persuasion

**Warnings: **Borderline M content, implicit sexual content. Lemon frosting, if you will.

**.26 ~ Art of Persuasion**

x x x

Soft lamp light cast his face in shadow, blue eyes darting back and forth as he scanned each page. These days he would read late into the night, quiet and still beside her as she fell asleep. The exception, of course, being if they had found another way to entertain themselves for the night.

As it was she had thought herself too tired for such a thing tonight, and yet as soon as she had curled herself into bed she immediately found that she couldn't sleep. Her eyes fluttered open again, taking in the sight of her husband. Unsurprisingly he caught her out of his peripheral, one glance in her direction provoking a sheepish smile from her.

"What?" he asked teasingly, his characteristic smirk showing up. "Can't sleep?"

She sighed, a small sound reminiscent of a scoff escaping her.

Without a word he reached over and clicked the lamp off, setting the heavy book down with a thud on the nightstand. His hand snaked under the covers to seek out her body, a brush at her hips before his arm encircled her waist. She got the idea and scooted closer to him, her head nestling into his neck.

"Sometimes you're too tired even to fall asleep. And the more you try, the more awake you are." He chuckled, fingers combing their way through her hair. "It's happened to me all my life—no matter where I've gone."

Her fingers wandered over his bare chest, her delicate touch easing his mannerism. She liked that he would finally remove the balaclava these days when they went to bed, provided the blinds were snug shut. His short, dark chestnut colored hair was just barely visible in the darkness, a few wisps of silver peppering it.

Exploring idly, she brushed against a raised gash of skin just below his shoulder. A slight gasp of surprise came forth from him, matching her own intrigue at the discovery.

"Whoa—what happened?" She examined the mark without touching, surprised that he was not stopping her. "This looks new."

"A...work-related injury, you could say," he came back almost hesitantly. "The technology our company utilizes isn't always flawless when it comes to restoring us from fatalities."

One nasty blow from a kukri had become more permanent as of last week. It wasn't the first time it had happened to someone, but he was lucky enough for the damage to be fairly minor.

Her eyebrows came together a fraction, thoughtful. "I don't like seein' that kind of thing happen to you. Don't get so careless...I don't want somethin' happenin' to you like that one time—in Dubai—"

He had to prevent himself from sighing. "Do you think I've ever let myself get caught by the enemy since then? Besides, this job is different."

The unspoken event between them had taken place a decade past, when he had been working for a time with the US government to plug a few leaks for a handsome sum of cash, no questions asked. He had ended up falling into a trap and tortured for nearly two days before his partner-of-the-hour assisted in finishing the job he had come to do.

"It wasn't even that big of a deal," he went on calmly, as if he were talking about a skinned knee. "They didn't get any information out of me anyway. As it would happen, I'm impervious to methods of persuasion."

She remained silent, mulling this statement over. It seemed to annoy her that he thought himself so invincible, that it could lead him into serious trouble one of these days. Scolding him for it had never been an effective way of dealing with it, and she had come to the point of simply living with his cavalier attitude toward danger.

Still, that didn't mean she was opposed to having some fun at his expense.

"Impervious to torture, huh?" she repeated softly, imitating his cocky tone of voice. "You sure about that?"

He smirked confidently down at her. "Oh, positive. Absolutely."

As she shimmied her way on top of him, her body fitting smoothly against his own, she noticed the smirk turned into a surprised raising of an eyebrow. She guessed he had assumed this was out of the question for the night, but he wasn't going to expect what she actually had in mind.

"All right then, let's see how true that is." She brushed her fingers through his hair, making certain that the swell of her chest grazed against his own through her soft nightgown. "I guarantee I can break ya within, oh, say...a few minutes."

He sniffed arrogantly, but she could see that it was intended to rebuff her challenge rather than accept it. And she hadn't even added the one rule yet.

"Rule is, ya can't touch me. Got it?"

An irate glare followed her declaration. "There's _rules_?"

"Of course, stupid. It's my torture, I can pick whatever I want," she snickered back, but quickly grew silent as she began kissing just below his ear. A suppressed groan threatened to escape him at the suddenness of the contact, paired with the fact that it had been several weeks since he last shared the night with her. The fact that she knew this and intended to exploit it put him at an immediate disadvantage.

His instinct was to press his hand gently to her lower back as she wrapped her legs around his hips, the need to resist her little game preventing him from violating the rule. No matter how small or trivial their competitions were, winning always happened to be something that the victor would lord over the other for quite a while afterward.

She would _not _break him. He had accepted her challenge, though without expressly doing so, and now his reputation as a stone wall was at stake.

He could see the sly smile on her face—no doubt she enjoyed every minute of having the upper hand on him. Soft lips ventured further down the curve of his neck, a coy nip here and there. After making her way to the hollow of his throat, she quickly changed her course to seek out his own lips. It occurred to him that she could probably feel the vibration of laughter in his chest as her long nails grazed lightly over every muscle.

Dark hair falling in her face, she upped the ante as her mouth covered his. Resolute in his determination to prevail over her, he didn't let himself deepen the kiss as he longed to. She caught on to this and took the initiative to part his lips, invading him with her own sweet taste. A low moan from her sent him closer to defeat; she was actually _laughing _as she felt his body respond to her advances, through their thin garments that separated them at the hips.

He rolled his eyes to the side a bit. Feigning disinterest, openly defiant toward the seduction that they both knew was working to great effect. In one lithe movement her hand went to the strap of her charmingly chaste teddy, sliding it away from her body. With a bit of squirming that created even more torturous friction, her body lay bare against him, save for the only remaining barriers that prohibited fulfillment.

"How're ya hangin' in there, hun?" she asked in a smug tone, her naked bust now brushing against his chest. He had developed a light red in his face from a combination of the arousal and the effort of resisting the urge to reciprocate the kisses she dragged along his mouth.

Abruptly she drew back a small amount, situating her weight more fully upon him. With the most gleeful smile yet she drove her hips hard against his, letting a low moan hum against her lips to further entice him. This time he _did _groan at the sensation, unprepared for the sudden forward action.

Once more her body rolled against him, and this time he couldn't avoid thrusting back. It was instinctive, a reflex she knew would generate an instantaneous response. She chuckled again in delight at the light friction between them that left him with sweat dripping down the bridge of his nose.

"Kathryn..."

He had sighed her name in an almost exasperated voice. Not an affectionate nickname as they most often used. No, this was an imploring sound. Just fringing on the border between asking and insisting.

Now she paused, returning to simply brushing her fingers over his shoulders. "That mean I'm the winner, then?" she smirked, fully appreciative of the soft growl of dissatisfaction that came from him.

For several moments, he was completely silent. Still breathing a bit heavily, but silent all the same. Unusually subdued, he was looking away from her.

He raised one hand slightly, as if to grasp at something invisible, but it merely fell back to rest on the sheets. He chuckled softly as his eyes glanced up at her. "Yes, you _are_ the winner. And God help me if you're ever working for the other side."

"Don't worry. I'm gonna do the honorable thing and put ya outta your misery."

A flash of eager delight went through his expression, lightning fast. She guided his hand to finally rest on her hip, smiling warmly. The unspoken truth happened to be that she wanted him as much as he wanted her right now, that she couldn't help herself after having led him on so cruelly. Even if he did deserve it.

It was only after they had finished their lovemaking that he was his arrogant self again, proud and masculine in the moment. She couldn't help rolling her eyes as he let his arm rest possessively around her waist.

Maybe she would never quite understand his ego, but she did have her methods of playfully toying with it.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm sort of in a softcore porn contest with Tokyo now. Oh my!

And yeah, I can complain about reviews. I can complain on the grounds that people beg for updates and then never review again. How am I supposed to know if I should even bother posting this stuff here anymore?!

Love,

-FP


	27. Cataclysm

**Notes: **Kind of ties in to #8.

**Warnings**: Citrus content, non-graphic but borderline M, so proceed with caution.

**.27 ~ Cataclysm**

x x x

Absence made the heart grow fonder. So the conventional knowledge went, but the truth appeared to be that absence had a whole gamut of consequences that were much less innocent.

His own selfish need turned out to be what drove him back to her eventually, for the first time in several months. It had not been much longer than that since she had bought the unassuming, isolated little property on the outskirts of the nearby New Mexican town.

He had paid her a few short visits there, checking in occasionally, but by and large he had thought it better to avoid any longstanding ties to her until he had a better understanding and familiarity with the organizations he was working for and against.

But today the time seemed opportune for a more personal visit; the opposing faction's "fatality avoidance" structure, as the small glasses-wearing woman had introduced it to them, had suffered some kind of failure in its hardware. While no one had suffered the consequences of it, the mercenaries of both sides were briefly dismissed for no more than a few hours while the arrangements were made to move the skirmish elsewhere for the remainder of the day.

He had spurned the notion of waiting around amongst his teammates for the duration of the afternoon. Bothersome feelings had been irking him as of late, and he intended to administer the remedy.

_That_ happened to be the reason he stood at her door at the hour of high noon, dressed in his standard work attire despite the brutally hot summer sun. Her coy smile upon opening the door only just managed to hide her delight at his presence. The way his arms ensnared her in an embrace was embarrassingly genuine in its desperation, a contented hum hissing through his teeth as her lips found his jawline, leaving kisses along the red fabric that hid his face from her.

"Y'know, I think I kinda like this actually," she smirked against his mouth as she guided him to her bedroom. They had yet to christen the bed with such an event, and the prospect was rather exhilarating. "Sorta spices things up, don't it?"

He snickered back at her impressed tone, but underneath he had to agree. It was almost easy to forget she was his wife of many years when the unusual context was layered over it. No doubt his current work was quite a bit different than his average covert activities; certainly the first time in his life he was a punch clock assassin.

Those thoughts of work died off immediately as her body met the mattress, pulling him roughly down on top of her in a no-nonsense gesture. Another chuckle escaped him as she guided his gloved hand to the hem of her dress, indirectly urging him to rid her of it in the fastest way possible. He couldn't help remarking on her overeager actions, but her teasing retort was almost lost as his lips came down hard on the curve of her neck.

Settling for ridding him of his clothing, the suit immediately fell carelessly to the ground as she aided him in shrugging out of it. The fact that he made no dispute of his expensive clothes being treated in such a way excited her into a suppressed giggle.

She made a show of popping out each button of his undershirt, then liberated the tie from around his neck before discarding the shirt. This one she did not discard but rather draped around her own neck playfully, like a feathered boa. The blood red shade defied the sky blue of her dress. His arousal seemed to intensify at this, but he was not willing to end the long-awaited encounter just yet.

Slowly, almost reverently, he undid the few hooks in the front of her dress that held it together. Lighter, sweat-beaded skin revealed itself, his lips kissing at it as it became exposed. Her arms slid out of it, one quick jerk dragging it down past her hips. He made sure it was clear of her body before his lips returned to roaming over the plain of her neck, over her collarbone. By the time his warm kisses made it to the swell of her cleavage, his fingers were rapidly undoing the clasp of the brassiere at her back.

He halted for a moment when the material came free of her body. His mouth fell slightly agape at the painfully anticipated sight of her voluptuous chest, an alluring part of her female form. Containing his desire, his gloved hands covered each breast, feeling the shape and weight of them in his palms. Without warning he seized the pink tip of her left breast between two fabric-encased fingers, teasing and manipulating it as soft moans began to issue from her rouged lips.

His wrist slipped out of the glove on his unoccupied hand, quickly putting it to work on the opposite side of her chest. He moved his dexterous fingers in tandem on her, the difference in texture tormenting and worshiping all at once. Affectionate lips dropped down from her neck back to her perspiring cleavage, nipping and kissing at the soft flesh.

At once her arms draped loosely around his shoulders to keep him in the warm cradle of her embrace. For the moment he acquiesced the request, tongue darting purposefully back up the column between her heaving breasts to return to its assault on her neck.

As his hands relented from their torturous sport, he moved lower to bring her legs around his waist. She pushed her hips against him a slight amount, as if to urge him to get on with it already. Later he would recall that it was around this point that she asked him if there was any danger or risk in what they were doing.

But no matter how hard he tried to recall what he had answered her, it was forever obscured by the intoxicated passion of the moment.

At last his hand crept up the smooth slope of her outer thigh, each thumb hooking under the lace straps that hugged her shapely hips. The center of his arousal was pressed against her inner thigh, his body unwilling to wait much longer. Still he dragged those darling soft panties down slowly, her lips warm on his as he went. Once she was free of hers she moved her body away minutely so that he might free himself from his own restraining underclothes, and within an instant he rocked smoothly against her, gradually filling her as she arched herself beneath him. Slender arms looped around his neck in a silent command to keep her close as his teeth grazed at her pale shoulder.

In the weeks to follow he would reflect rather proudly on his rival having witnessed their reunion, the thrust and sway of their hips that left her groaning and whimpering. He had not exactly been silent and contained himself, as he supposed an _actual_ casanova of an agent might have been, phrases in both English and French falling from his lips between breathless kisses and gasps. But the fact that he kept her satisfied and wanting him seemed to be enough of a victory to make up for the unwanted surveillance, a masculine victory that related directly back to his ego.

The cry she gave as she reached her pinnacle threatened to allow his name to slip, and with his brief but unexplained disappearance from work he thought it best to silence her by crashing his lips into her own. It became a moan against his mouth as her body came down from bliss, joining him in the satisfying post-orgasmic state. She chuckled softly when their bodies separated, still in an amused mood at the fact that she had just made love to a masked man. He could only toy fondly with her hair in response to that, a damningly affectionate gesture that did not go unnoticed by prying eyes.

With any luck, his future self would hope, the paparazzi pictures did not reveal the uncharacteristic infatuation he would always have with her. It could easily just appear as a fling, purely business and easy sex with a beautiful woman to which he had no lasting connection.

But that particular question would remain open to interpretation.

* * *

**A/N**: I had posted this separately but I don't think it's really graphic enough to warrant that. It's pretty minor as far as I'm concerned, given that a lot of M fics on here completely violate the rules by posting MA content.

-FP


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